


Lost and Found

by Zarla



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Identities, Amnesia, Child Neglect, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inexperience, M/M, Missing Scenes, Rock Bands, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 63,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/pseuds/Zarla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes taught him a lot about being a thief but nothing about other people. Lucky for him, over the course of his grand adventure, two people are more than willing to fill Duster in on what he's been missing. Really, what are the odds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moro/gifts).



> Includes spoilers up to and including the ending of the game. I also use a few older names for things - Wes, Tanehineri, and one that comes up near the end.  
> Wes's relationship with Duster tends towards the (emotionally) abusive in this, so be wary if that kind of thing bothers you.

  
When his voice started cracking, things changed.

His life was defined by solid, steady, well-worn routines, and he'd long ago accepted that things would always be that way. He was not prepared to find himself getting much taller almost overnight; for his hands and feet to get too big, his skin to break out, his face to itch; to feel gawky and ungainly and strange and uncomfortable in his own skin. He thought he knew his body - he spent almost all of his time each day practicing and honing it for that unspecified future task that Wes was so single-mindedly focused on - but all of a sudden it had other plans. It was changing with or without his say-so and he felt lost, as well as increasingly tired and moody for no reason, not that he ever let any of that show around Wes. He was smarter than that.

Duster worried that maybe something was wrong with him, but he had no idea how to ask Wes about it. He didn't really have any idea how to talk to him period because he and Wes did not talk to each other; Wes gave him orders and he tried to obey them, and Wes yelled at him when he screwed things up, and he didn't say anything. How was he supposed to ask him about something like this? Wes would probably just say he was being stupid, that it was nothing to worry about even though it only seemed to get worse with each passing day. Was he going crazy? What was happening to him?

Finally, the situation, as with so many things in his life, was taken out of his hands. One day after a training session, Wes was telling him what he needed to work on, asking him if he was paying attention, demanding at least a sentence in response so he could make sure he was listening and when Duster answered him, his voice jumped and squeaked. He'd touched his throat with wide eyes, startled, and Wes raised an eyebrow, giving him an intent, appraising look.

Training that day was put on hold, one of the few times he could ever remember that happening when he wasn't severely injured or sick. Wes took him inside, sat him down, and explained a few things as tersely as possible. His body was changing. That was normal. The next couple years would be awkward, but by the end of it he'd be an adult and it wouldn't matter. He might start growing whiskers, but he'd show him how to handle that when it happened.

He might be distracted with thoughts about girls, but the most important thing in his life, and Wes emphasized this very clearly, the _most important thing_ was his training. That was the _only thing_ that mattered, and the _only thing_ he should be thinking about. The safety of the village and everyone in it depended on him learning how to be a proper thief, depended on him being ready for that unspecified future date when the unknown enemy would appear and do _some_ thing, and absolutely _nothing_ should distract him from that, or _would_ distract him from that if he knew what was good for him.

Then he told him that he wasn't allowed to go into town anymore until this awkward period was over.

What else could he do? Duster just nodded and obeyed, as he always had, despite the thousands of questions still buzzing in his head. Even when he walked around at night by himself, itching like he wanted to burst out of his own skin and agonizingly, painfully restless to _do_ some frustratingly unexplained thing, he stayed away from Tazmily. Wes never had to warn him about something twice. He knew the consequences of disobeying his father.

So he spent his adolescent years alone and confused. Wes hadn't explained very much to him about anything, not that that was unusual, and he was too afraid to ask him for more details. After all, Wes might end up yelling at him for making him repeat himself, or for not understanding something that was so obvious, or for being stupid enough to ask in general. He got enough of that just staying quiet and doing what he was told. He had to figure this out himself, but as Wes had told him so many times, he wasn't very good at figuring anything out. His explorations and examinations of his feelings only left him feeling more lost and confused than ever. Nothing gave him any answers.

His training at least occupied his days so he didn't have to think about any of it. All he had to do was repeat the same action over and over until Wes was satisfied, which was never, or until he physically couldn't go any further, and in that state, he wasn't going to think very hard about anything.

Still, every now and then there were intrusive thoughts he'd never had before, ones that he found puzzling and distracting. Just like Wes had said, they tended to be of the girls in town his age, vague memories of the women he'd seen back when he used to go to Tazmily. They were distant figures, dreamlike and unreal, something about them important, like he should be doing something about them, but he didn't know what it was. Wes seemed to sense when he was drifting, knew that he'd be distracted by such thoughts as he'd warned, and emphasized over and over that the only thing that mattered was his training, that he had more important things to worry about, that he had a grand responsibility that he couldn't fritter away on idle thoughts. Duster wanted to listen, he did, but sometimes it just came over him without warning, and more than once Wes had rapped him over the head to regain his attention.

Over and over, he heard the same messages repeated to him. There was an unknown enemy, somewhere, that Wes didn't know the form of, that he couldn't ever explain, but this enemy definitely existed. And if this enemy decided to move against Tazmily, which could happen at any time, it would be up to them to do _some_ thing, Wes never explained what it was, to save everyone. Everyone's lives depended on him doing this properly, and of course, Duster never did things properly. He always had to try harder, he always had to get better. He had to keep training so he wouldn't fail when the day came. That was all that mattered. That was all he was good for, the entire purpose of his life. He was a tool to be used when the time was right. He had no other purpose, and shouldn't think about anything else. 

Over and over this was hammered into him. 

Days, weeks, months blurred by. He stopped growing, although he ended up much taller than Wes, which seemed to irritate him. That seemed unfair, since it wasn't like Duster could control that, but that hadn't stopped Wes before, so why would it now? Years of nonstop training left his body solidly muscled, yet lanky and thin compared to his father, speckled with scars from countless mishaps, his eyes constantly shadowed with fatigue. His limp never got any better, although he'd found his ways to manage the pain and perform just as well even so impaired. Well... _just as well_ might have been generous, all Wes ever said was that he was barely adequate, but he could do what he asked of him, that was what was important. 

As his body settled, so did his emotions. Finally, that restless feeling, the baseless longing quieted down to a level where he could ignore it comfortably, replace it with numb focus on the same rote patterns each day that Wes put him through. An adult, finally, Wes had said like Duster had wanted it to take that long.

He let him go back into town, and all the girls he'd known when he was a child were adults now, like himself, as much strangers to him as he was to them. They looked nothing like they used to, and apparently Duster didn't look the same either. He only tried to speak to them once or twice; Nana asked if he was the thief's son, and if so, if he could maybe leave her alone, and Brenda said she didn't talk to creepy people.

He came back home, Wes asked him why he was late, and it was like the past few years hadn't even happened. He picked up the threads of where he'd left off, reintroduced himself to everyone, carved out that awkward, misfitting notch he used to occupy in Tazmily's grand scheme, played slow catch-up with the rest of the villagers who all seemed to have families and boyfriends and girlfriends and husbands and wives now, while he'd only become taller and bigger. 

There was a feeling that maybe he'd missed something.

But it couldn't have been that important, not compared to being ready for when the enemy came, someday, and did whatever it was they were going to do. He had one purpose, after all. His training was all that mattered.

When he stumbled into Club Titiboo years later without his memory, bewildered and battered and lost, he'd never been held, he'd never been in love, and he'd never been kissed.

  
\---

  
He really wasn't sure what it was that made the DCMC take pity on him. It wasn't like they had a good reason - he was just an aimless, nameless, homeless drifter begging at the club's door for answers. He couldn't have been the only one. The bouncers certainly weren't inclined to indulge him - they didn't care if he was exhausted or hungry, this wasn't a hotel. He sincerely had no idea where else he could go, he didn't know where or who he was and he felt so tired, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. For some reason it felt familiar.

The DCMC had no reason to help him, but there they were. The bouncer hit him hard enough to send him stumbling back several steps into the wall, and some part of him said that he should have been able to block that (how?) or that he needed to shake it off so he could... do what? Disoriented, dizzy, he tried to pick himself up and he could hear voices telling the bouncers to knock it off, asking his name as hands helped him to his feet.

"I don't know," he'd said, and they'd all laughed and clapped his back. 

"Another one!" As they pulled him along further inside, and he didn't resist. "I guess you could call it destiny, huh?"

It all happened so quickly, it was difficult for him to take it all in. They sat him down, got him a drink, grilled him about his past life and who he was. He didn't remember anything about himself, not even what he used to do, although he had a guilty feeling that it was important and he _should_ remember. 

And against all odds, each of them laughed and told him a similar story.

"We don't know who any of us are," the one with the mohawk said. "So we just made each other up. Why not, right?"

"Maybe we knew each other before, but we're only meeting now," the one with the dreadlocks said. "Like, we were all a band before we lost our memories, and now here we are."

"A band?" Duster tilted his head. The enormous blank void of his past life could have been anything; why not a band?

"You play any instruments?"

Duster wasn't sure. But it did seem like a big coincidence that four other people also had amnesia just like his own, and that they all happened to find each other. Maybe they _had_ known each other before. Maybe this was meant to happen.

"You should stick with us anyway until you get your memory back. Maybe it'll help if we're all together, huh?" the one with the blond pompadour said.

"If you're goin' to hang with us, you should have a name though," the one with the mutton chops said, leaning back and looking at him thoughtfully. "What kind of name do you want?"

"A name...?" Duster blinked.

The one with the mohawk smiled at him, lip piercing glinting. "Yeah, we all got new names, 'cause we don't know our old ones anymore. What'cha think, what's he look like?"

"You ask me..." The one with mutton chops pointed at his hands, and Duster looked down. They were covered with scars, and he didn't know why. What had he been doing before to get his hands like this? "You look like you're a pretty lucky guy to have come this far. How about Lucky?"

"Lucky..." He wasn't entirely sure it felt right, but something about the idea or concept resonated on some level in him. Was he lucky before, or maybe unlucky? He couldn't remember, but the more he thought about it, the more it stuck. "Alright."

  
\---

  
For some reason, Lucky had a fantastic sense of rhythm.

He could keep time with anything, tap one foot along with the beat no matter how complicated it was. He felt like he was supposed to do something with it, like there was a reason he could find a beat and... hit it? Was that the word he was looking for? His old life was so hazy, he couldn't remember. The others said it was because he was a born musician, and that made sense. He just had to find the right way to express that.

They were patient, something that made him feel a little ill-at-ease though he didn't know why, as he tried out each option. They gave him tips, suggestions, explained how each instrument worked, let him try and see which one fit, and after a bit of trial and error, he settled on the bass. Once Baccio, as he'd eventually learned his name, laid down the beat, his sense of rhythm allowed him to follow it perfectly, and training his fingers to do the same along the bass' strings wasn't too difficult. And even when it was difficult, it was easy to put in the time practicing until he got better. Something felt natural about doing the same thing over and over and over until it was perfect, although at the same time, it always felt like something was missing. Something making sure he did it right, but it was all so vague.

Once he got comfortable following, he began to improvise, expand and add flourishes, and despite his initial missteps, he fit in with the others perfectly. More proof that the five of them were meant to be together, that they'd been a band before they'd all collectively gotten amnesia, that this was how things were supposed to be. And he certainly felt like his new name was apt; he felt very lucky to be here, with them. They were friendly and supportive and helpful and fun to be with and they made him feel happy, like he belonged. Like Lucky really was someone even without his memories, without any context. The egg still bothered him somewhere, he still had no explanation for that, but it was easy enough to ignore in favor of his new life.

They played smaller shows with him at first so he could get used to the experience, get over his first show jitters. He worried that he wouldn't fit in, that he'd make a mistake, that the DCMC didn't need a bassist after all, but just as OJ had told him, after his first performance, the fans were hooked. People began to chant his name along with the others, scream for his attention while he was playing. On one hand, it was good to know that he wasn't screwing anything up, but on the other it was... bizarre. People shouted declarations of love at him and it didn't feel real, like they were joking or they must have been thinking of someone else. The shows got bigger and bigger, their name spreading around like wildfire, and the fans showered him with affection and attention and he had no idea what to do with it. This part of the experience hadn't really occurred to him.

The others didn't seem to have any such qualms though. They might not have remembered their old lives, but the core of their being survived even without it, hinted at the lives they might have led. OJ was a charismatic leader, Baccio was smooth, cool, and mysterious, Shimmy was a natural showman with a graceful touch, Magic was excitable and a bit of a daredevil, and Lucky... Lucky was quiet, gentle, and passive. What did that say about his old life? Who he used to be? He wasn't sure. There was a feeling sometimes like he might be better off not knowing, though the curiousity still gnawed at him. 

Sometimes he felt like he fit in with them perfectly, and other times he felt very lost. When they'd unwind or jam after a concert, the others would talk about the women they'd seen in the crowd that'd caught their eye, the propositions and kisses and screams from adoring fans, and they seemed so at ease with it. Like they'd always been doing this, even without their memories. Lucky never knew what to say when these conversations came up, and when pressed, he often demurred and asked them to tell more stories so he wouldn't embarrass himself. Most of the time that worked, although OJ always gave him a look when he did that.

Was there something wrong with him in that he didn't know what to do when girls flirted with him? That the entire experience was foreign and strange to him when it came so easily to the others? Why didn't he know any of this? Who was he in his past life? 

He might never know. Still, it bothered him.

  
\---

  
"Sometimes I wonder about you, Lucky."

Lucky looked up from the sheet music he was struggling to read. He'd never been good with any of the notation; he had better luck playing by feel, and he had a feeling the others were the same way. Still, it was better to have things written down, which was usually OJ's job. "What do you mean?"

"I just wonder who you were, you know?" OJ shrugged, pulling out another Pork Chip from the bag he was holding. "Why you act the way you do sometimes."

There was an instinctual, deep reaction from somewhere in him, a warning that he should brace for... something. Where did that come from, and why? It was faint at least, but definitely there. "Am I doing something wrong...?"

"No, no." OJ waved a hand. "That's what I'm talkin' about, you just... do this thing sometimes and... it makes me wonder, is all." He shrugged again. 

"What thing?"

"You get this look..." OJ paused, then he crumpled up the bag and poised himself to throw it across the room into the wastebasket. Lucky watched it soar through the air in a tumbling graceful arc before landing on the floor just beside the basket, and OJ huffed in irritation. He looked back to him. "You get this look like... Lucky really was a good name for you, you know?" He tilted his head a little. "Like you're lucky to be with us instead of..." He didn't finish his thought.

Lucky blinked at him. "I don't understand." He said it and a chill went through him; some deep remnant, something screaming from far away _don't say that, don't ever say that, when you say that_ and then it garbled into something indistinct. Dangerous, a dangerous thing to say, but why? He looked back at the sheet music, a little disturbed. His old self was like a shadow, a ghost that reached out and touched his heart at times and he didn't know why or what it was trying to tell him. Haunted by who he was, possessed by him in ways he didn't understand. He got the same feeling when he looked in the pouches on the belt he'd been wearing when he'd come here, all the strange objects inside that looked familiar but had something wound around them, something dark, a warning, something that made him feel small and helpless. He'd put the belt in a drawer since he'd joined the band and had tried very hard not to think about it since. 

Whoever his old self was, they were gone now. He was Lucky. There was nothing he could do about that.

An arm settled around his shoulders, and he blinked, startled out of his reverie. OJ sat by him now, his arm keeping them close, trying to meet his eyes. "I just wonder about you sometimes."

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't say anything. OJ stared at him a little longer, then smiled. "But hey, you're happy with us, aren't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Then that's what counts. So, what d'you think?" And OJ picked up some of the sheet music. It was easy to shift the focus of the conversation.

He kept his arm around his shoulders though. No one had ever done that before, and he wasn't sure why he knew that.

  
\---

  
"Got something for you, Lucky!"

He looked up from his bass. OJ was holding a sheet of paper, grinning at him.

"What is it?"

"Check it yourself." Still grinning. Lucky reached out and took it, squinting at the words. He wasn't a fast reader - a thought that triggered that same faint warning, that phantom of his old self trying to say something - so it took him a little time. _I know you've never met me, but I want you to know..._

"A love letter...?" Was he reading it right? That didn't seem right, but that's what the words said. OJ sat down next to him, smirking.

"Yup. One of the ladies tonight gave it to me, said it was just for you. You're a real hit, you know that?" 

OJ sounded pleased by the idea, as he usually was by the attention of their loving fans, but Lucky just felt... lost. What was he supposed to do with this? It wasn't meant for him, he was sure of that somewhere. Something like this wasn't for him, it was for other people. He had something more important to do, something... something else, though he didn't know what it was. But it was important though, and there was that twinge of guilt whenever that thought crossed his mind. How important could it have been if he couldn't remember what it was?

But this wasn't for him, even if he was curious. And if he was curious about something, if he wanted something, shouldn't he know what to do with it when he got it? Wouldn't that make sense? Something in him wanted this but it didn't connect to any course of action, and something in him said he _shouldn't_ want it. Something said he had to... do something. Practice maybe?

"You got that look, Lucky." OJ was leaning forward on his knees, staring at him. 

"That look?"

"Yeah, you get this look like a train's coming right for you." OJ pointed at him, still smirking. "Like you ain't ever had a girl hit on you before."

Had he? Even if he had, he wouldn't remember, right? Did it make a difference either way? But the others all seemed so at ease with it, like somewhere they still knew, and he didn't have that. Why not? Was something wrong with him, was something just missing?

"Heh, look how hard you're thinkin' about it. Guess that answers that." OJ put a hand on his shoulder. "You really never had a girl be into you before, Lucky?"

He looked down, searching the ground for an answer. "I don't remember..."

"Man, I can't remember anything either but I still know that. The others do too." OJ leaned in a bit closer to him, an eyebrow raised. "You not into girls?"

Lucky blinked. The idea had honestly never seriously occurred to him, and he didn't know what to say.

"'Cause if you're not, that's cool." OJ shrugged and leaned back with that easy smile that usually meant things were alright. That dangerous feeling was back, like there was something that Lucky was supposed to say, and if he didn't say it... what? What would happen? What was he afraid of? "I'm just wondering."

"I don't know... I've never thought about it before." Which was true and should have been harmless enough, but still, that anxious feeling lingered.

"Really?" OJ raised his eyebrows. 

"...I don't remember anything about something like that." He scratched near the hairline of his wig. "I don't... think I ever thought about any of that, before? I feel like... I had something more important to do." But what? 

OJ laughed a little, trying to put him at ease perhaps. Was it obvious how awkward Lucky felt? Still that feeling telling him that he shouldn't be talking about this, thinking about this. "Sure, music's important and all, but that kind of thing's important to figure out too, you know?"

"I guess..." Not interested in girls? He'd never thought about it, or other men that way. Either scenario didn't seem real to him, just distant things he was not supposed to dwell on. He was meant to do... something, something important, and it didn't involve either category. Maybe. It was so hard to tell when everything was so fuzzy. There was that vague wanting feeling in the back of his mind, like he knew he was missing out on something but he wasn't sure what it was... was that feeling it? Was that what OJ was talking about? He tried to picture a situation with a man or a woman and he was equally at a loss for what to do when given positive attention from either. Positive attention, something about that stuck out in his head.

"You really never thought about it before?"

"I don't think so..."

"Well, tell you what." OJ patted his shoulder. "You think about it, and let me know, alright?"

"Okay." He agreed automatically, something the others had teased him about before, and OJ was walking for the door before he thought to ask him something else. "Wait... why do you want to know?"

OJ paused, then shrugged and smiled at him over his shoulder. "I just wonder about you sometimes, that's all."

He left, and Lucky was left with his bass and far too many questions. In the end, it was easier to focus on practicing than it was on answering any of them.

  
\---

  
"So, what do you think of Violet?"

Why did everyone keep asking him about her? Lucky glanced at the opposite wall that now separated their rooms, like she could somehow hear them. She might have looked cute ( _you think she's cute?_ echoed in his mind, waiting for a realization he didn't know how to make) and harmless like the other waitresses at the club, but he got the feeling that he shouldn't cross her. Her arms looked like his own, solid and thick, and her knuckles had a web of white lines; there was more to her than met the eye. "I don't know... I haven't really talked to her much." Or at all.

OJ nudged him. "'Cause she seems really into you."

He looked around, like she was about to pop out at any moment. Talking about people when they weren't there felt unfamiliar, and particularly talking about her made him feel anxious. "Is she? I didn't notice..."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me." OJ threw an arm around his shoulders again, laughing. "You're not that observant, you know?"

That dark twinge, some deep memory burned into those parts of his old self that survived. _You're not, you're not, you are, you're so, you're so_... something, something that made him feel... he didn't want to think about it anymore.

"I guess..."

"So, you gonna go for her?"

"Oh, no..." He said it before he even thought about it, then paused to think it over more carefully. Why was that his first thought? "I mean... I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I don't..." He might as well be honest; it was just him and OJ after all. Hopefully. "I don't really know... how, exactly. I don't remember how."

OJ raised an eyebrow, like he wasn't sure he believed that.

"You don't know how."

Lucky looked away, his face prickling uncomfortably. "I don't remember anything... that's all." He felt like an idiot, and something about that thought struck right into his heart and he shuddered. His past self saying something, his old life hovering, repeating the word, he didn't want to hear this. He was Lucky now, he didn't want to feel like this anymore. He had no reason to.

"Nah, I get it, don't worry." Maybe OJ could sense his shift in mood, maybe not. But he was smiling at him a little more kindly now, and he still had his arm around his shoulders. "But you really don't know how, huh?" Like he was making sure.

"No... not really..." No point in lying, although it was hard to meet his eyes still. Why did he feel like this? Did he know somewhere that something was wrong with him for not knowing anything about this? Did OJ think he was an idiot? He really hoped not, just the thought of him thinking that ached way deep down in a place he couldn't identify.

"Okay, so, did you think about what I asked you before? About girls and guys?"

"A little..."

"And?"

Lucky rubbed his upper arm, looking away. Might as well be honest, it should make things simpler, but there was still a feeling of dread, like he was going to say something wrong unless he was careful. "I never really thought about it before, I guess... I don't know," he mumbled.

OJ waited for him to elaborate, and then when he didn't, leaned back with a thoughtful hum. There was silence between them for a minute or so where Lucky felt like he should say something, but couldn't find any words. He felt familiarly on edge, judged, and why was it familiar?

"You know..." OJ said eventually, slowly. "I could show you."

Lucky blinked. "...Show me what?"

OJ waved a hand. "Show you what it's like. Seems to me like you've never done anything with anyone before, even when you had your memories. And that's okay!" A quick amendment when Lucky looked down. "Sometimes that's how it goes. Not your fault, probably. But, if you want to know..." And he shrugged.

Lucky knew what he meant, some part of him must have known, but still it refused to coalesce into a solid picture, into anything real. Things not meant for him, things that were distracting. He couldn't get distracted, but OJ was asking, offering, that hadn't happened before... what was he supposed to do? Would it be easier if a girl was asking? Imagining it made his decision no more clear. "I don't know..."

"Alright, here." OJ shifted a little to face him, reached out and turned Lucky's face towards his own. Their eyes met for a second before OJ moved forward, too quickly for him to react, and gave him a quick peck on the lips. It was incredibly brief, only for a second, and still the jolt felt like he'd been stabbed. Completely alert, startled; how could something that simple make his heart beat this fast and loud? Somehow, OJ looked totally at ease, smiling like this was the most normal thing in the world. "Heh, there's that train coming look again. Think about it, alright?"

OJ patted his shoulder and left, his hands in his pockets, humming, and Lucky stared after him for several seconds, blinking with his mouth open like he was waiting for some kind of explanation.

It was his first kiss, although he didn't know it at the time. He was relatively sure though that he'd never felt this way before; his heart wouldn't slow and his stomach felt tight and his face itched like his skin was prickling awake, and he couldn't stop replaying it in his head. He kissed him, OJ kissed him, he let OJ kiss him. Should he have stopped him? He was supposed to be doing something important, he knew that, and that old phantom of himself said that kisses were definitely not it, but... it only took a second, that wasn't so bad, was it? He could still focus on his work, on doing that important thing, right? It wasn't that distracting, right?

What was he supposed to do with this? There was a feeling like someone was going to yell at him, but he didn't know who it was.

  
\---

  
Somehow, things continued on much as they had before. OJ didn't behave any differently than he used to; still confident, still friendly, still quick to tease and quick to support. The others didn't suspect a thing between them, just as chatty and goofy as ever. The five of them worked on their music, made fun of each other, told jokes and tussled and laughed, all very normal. Like nothing had changed, but he knew that wasn't true.

Lucky felt like he should do something, that he needed and wanted to do something, but he didn't know what it was. When he thought about that brief kiss and the sudden rush it had sent through him, there was something addictive to it - something unfamiliar and strange but not... dangerous. Or maybe he just didn't want it to be dangerous. He didn't know, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

He was supposed to focus on his work, this wasn't for him. He wasn't meant to know, and he should've just let it go but he couldn't forget. Was he okay with going through his life just not knowing, just giving up on all of this and focusing on... whatever it was he was supposed to do? Was he okay with that, when he had the chance to learn more right in front of him? When someone wanted to teach him? Was he okay with staying in the dark to satisfy some ancient phantom from a life he couldn't remember?

Would it be so bad just to know? To just... find out what it was like and what it entailed and why and how it made him feel the way it did, and if he liked it. To finally satisfy a low-running curiousity, find out if it was the source of that constant quiet longing. Would it be so bad just to find out? He wasn't abandoning his responsibilities or anything, he just... 

There wasn't anything wrong with it, right? Once he knew, it'd all be settled and done with, and he could just go back to what he was supposed to do instead, no harm done... right? 

Something made him come to OJ's room that night, anyway. Their band leader was busy writing on several scattered sheets of paper across his desk, probably transcribing some of the songs they'd been working on earlier that day, and Lucky hovered by his door, wary and unsure.

"Hey, Lucky," OJ said, not really looking up. "What's up?"

How was he supposed to start this conversation? He should have been more prepared. He looked at the wall, tried to find some words. "I was just thinking about what you said..."

"What, tonight? I was a little off my game, could've intro'd Magic better..." Distracted, and then his pencil stopped moving. He looked up, serious now. "Or, you mean...?"

Lucky didn't want to say it, he felt embarrassed somehow. He rubbed his neck and looked at the floor. "Um... yeah, I guess... maybe..." He trailed off as OJ got up, fidgeted and looked at the wall as he came towards him, swallowed hard when he pulled him further into the room and shut the door.

"And...?" OJ kept his hand on his arm and the interest in his eyes was almost painful.

"Uh..." What was he supposed to say? It didn't seem right as words and the pressure suddenly felt overwhelming. He looked down, mumbling. "I guess... it'd be okay..."

OJ stared at him, raised an eyebrow. "You want me to show you?" He had no trouble saying it, why was it so easy for everyone else? Why was Lucky always a little behind? He wanted to answer but he couldn't string anything together in his head that could explain everything he was feeling, so he just nodded. It felt like at any minute, something terrible was going to happen to him, he was doing something terribly wrong and someone... he didn't know who but someone was going to know, they were going to be angry and...

OJ came closer to him, lifted his chin with one hand so he could look him in the eyes, and somehow, he didn't want to leave. He was afraid, nervous, that specter hovering but something kept him there, something was stronger. "You look kinda scared, Lucky," OJ said, although his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "You sure?"

He nodded again, since he didn't trust his voice. 

"Alright, if you're sure..." Another opportunity for an out, and it was tempting to take it, and yet, at the same time... "Close your eyes."

Doing what he was told was easy, that at least felt familiar. When he kissed him, that same sudden jolt went through him, a tingling rush, his muscles tense, his heart pounding. This time it was longer though, he had enough time to process what was happening to him. He'd never really thought about lips before, it just wasn't important and to think, something this simple, pressing them together, could do something like this, could make him feel like this. It didn't make sense. It was just a gesture, contact between two people, something simple and yet he'd never felt so out of his depth. He should do something, shouldn't he be doing something? OJ slid an arm around his back, pulled him closer, and all he could do was hold onto him.

"You've really never done this before, huh...?" OJ breathed when they broke apart, and Lucky shook his head without thinking. He couldn't remember his old life but it felt true, and OJ laughed a little. "Just trust me."

He was so dazed; all he could manage was a faint agreeing sound as OJ drew him close again. They'd only been apart a few seconds, but still when they touched again that same shock went through him, left him weak and shivering as his fingers dug into his shoulders. His face felt warm and his skin tingled, all his nerves coming awake one by one; OJ bit his bottom lip and he whimpered a little. His bad leg was trembling, what was he going to do if it gave out? How was he supposed to deal with all of this at once? He wasn't sure he could handle this, maybe they should be taking this a little more slowly, maybe...

"Alright..." OJ pulled away from him, his voice low and rough, and it took Lucky a few seconds to open his eyes. "That's probably enough for now..."

They were both breathing hard, Lucky much more so, but now that there was space between them, things could calm down a little, he could recover his thoughts and catch his breath and figure all this out. And yet, his first reaction to OJ saying that that was enough wasn't relief but disappointment. Which didn't make any sense; already he felt overwhelmed, lost, approaching some undefined new limit and still he wanted to push himself further? Even when it was dangerous - and this had to be dangerous, what else could that fluttering nervousness mean \- he still wanted to keep going? It didn't make any sense, he wasn't thinking straight at all. How could he want both things at once?

"Unless you want to keep going?" OJ must have seen the look in his eyes, and he smirked at him. Something tightened in his stomach at the thought, radiating outwards in pinpricks across his face, something that instantly made his decision for him before he could think about it.

"If..." Lucky swallowed. "If... you want to..."

OJ stared at him a few moments longer before shaking his head a little and sighing. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, paused, then apparently changed his mind. Lucky didn't have much time to wonder about it before OJ's grip around him tightened, and that cleared his mind immediately. "Then, open your mouth and follow my lead."

Listening was the easy part, that didn't require any thought. When he felt his tongue in his mouth, he was too startled at first to react, much less try to mimic him. It was all he could do to stay standing. OJ was patient though, or maybe the soft noises Lucky made were enough of a reward for him. Vaguely through the haze, he knew that he'd been told to do something, that he was told to follow his lead, and he knew that involved more than just letting OJ do as he pleased, as nice as that was. He struggled out from underneath the intensity of it all, tried to claw his way to some kind of coherency, to action. He was hesitant reaching out with his own tongue, afraid of doing something wrong, that feeling very familiar amidst all the new ones coursing through him. But it was what he was told to do, and he couldn't think of anything else in his current state. His reward was a faint appreciative sound from OJ when he assumed he was doing it right, and he shuddered at the sound, at the thought. There was nothing like someone telling him, one way or another, that he was doing something right.

When they finally broke apart, he took in a shaky, weak breath, weaving slightly back and forth, and he rested his head against OJ's shoulder, overwhelmed. He was glad for his support, his arms around his back solid and real when he felt so lightheaded and dizzy. 

"You alright?" With a slight laugh again, and OJ patted his back. His left knee was shaking hard, sending tremors through his whole body, aching rivulets of sensation now coming through the warm fog of his thoughts. Was he leaning on it wrong the whole time? When OJ had started kissing him he couldn't think of anything else. 

"Uh huh."

"Not so bad, huh?" He could hear the grin in his voice. As usual, nothing fazed OJ. In a way he envied that, but at the moment he was thankful for it - it helped keep him grounded, told him things were alright.

"No, it was... it was nice..." Still trying to catch his breath, speak over his heartbeat. It had only happened seconds ago but already felt like a dream. Things like this didn't happen to him. He knew that somewhere.

"Nice? That's all I get?"

"No, it was... it was really nice, I'm sorry..." He shut his eyes.

"Ah, I'm just teasin', it's fine." OJ patted his back again. He held him close, firmly like he was trying to stop his shaking. "So, answer your question about bein' into guys?"

Lucky hadn't thought that exact question was on the table, but in his current state of mind he couldn't really argue with him. "I guess..."

"Heh, I had a feeling." He moved away from him a little. "Alright, I still got -"

When their balance shifted, his leg gave out. OJ tried to catch him, but he wasn't any more prepared for it than Lucky was, and the two of them ended up kneeling on the floor. "Woah woah, you okay there?"

"Nh, yeah..." Embarrassment now overrode all his previous good feelings, familiar frustration at his own body. Why did he even have this limp? What had his past self even done to get it? It always seemed to kick in at the worst times. "Just my leg, it's nothing..."

"Right, the limp, sorry." OJ pushed himself back up to his feet, holding out his hand for Lucky. "Should do this sitting down next time, huh?"

He hadn't thought about a next time. Lucky looked up at him for a few seconds before taking his hand.

"...Yeah..."

He pulled him back up.

  
\---

  
He didn't feel comfortable calling what they did 'lessons'; there was something dark about that word that didn't fit to him. Lessons weren't something to be looked forward to, and he looked forward to the time he spent with OJ very much. The spare moments the two of them could find to spend together were often the highlight of his day. Sometimes they just chatted, sometimes OJ teased him or asked him questions about the next show or wanted his input on a song they were working on, but most of the time Lucky ended up learning. 

And as usual when presented with something he was supposed to learn, he tried to apply himself. He never felt quite at ease asking questions, although he always had some, so instead he tried his best to mimic the things that OJ did, to follow his lead. While he couldn't practice this as regularly as he could with something like the bass, he felt motivated in an unfamiliar way to get better at it as quickly as he could, to do it whenever he got the chance. OJ certainly didn't complain, and in fact seemed rather pleased whenever Lucky got particularly determined, met and matched him and at times went beyond what he had started.

When he couldn't practice physically, he found himself practicing mentally, and sometimes when he didn't intend to. The more time the two of them spent together, the more he found himself distracted by daydreams and memories when he was alone. Even when he wasn't doing anything particularly suggestive, sometimes the thoughts just snuck up on him. Was that why doing this was dangerous? Because being distracted like this could affect his performance? He never anticipated something like this occupying his thoughts so often.

A little experience went such a long way. Suddenly the stories his bandmates told about the girls they'd known made a lot more sense. All the boasting and joking now had context that had been missing before, and if they asked him, he could come up with a story that would sound believable, although he wasn't about to tell them what was going on between him and OJ. That was personal and it didn't really seem like his place to say anything about it anyway. Still, he felt much less lost now that he had an idea of what it was like for seemingly everyone else.

There were moments, though, that reminded him that he wasn't supposed to be here, that there was something strange about him, something wrong, holes in his story that he never knew how to fill. The blank void of his life shouldn't have been so disruptive; how could nothing do so much?

They were sitting together in OJ's room, he was kissing him and he could feel him unbuttoning his shirt - he hadn't done that before, but he trusted him.

"Man, Lucky, you are _ripped_ ," OJ said, laughing a little as they broke apart and he ran his hands underneath the now open fabric. Any doubts or fears Lucky might have had were wiped away instantly at his touch, replaced with a jangling intensity that made it impossible to think of anything else. He let out a fluttering breath, faintly colored with something, then OJ's hands stopped, and his smile faded.

"What is it?" Lucky said. He thought at first it was a temporary lapse but OJ's expression didn't change, he didn't move and Lucky sat up a little, emotions shifting too easily to worry and anxiousness. He looked down at his body to try and see what was wrong; OJ's hands framed a ragged patch of white skin that traveled across his side below his ribcage. 

"Where'd this come from...?" Like he wasn't actually talking to him, and his fingers kept moving along the white jagged lines that crisscrossed the planes of his stomach, the small round wounds that looked like he'd been punctured with something. "Where'd you get all these?"

Lucky didn't spend much time looking in the mirror or looking at himself - he was always looking at a stranger and it made him uncomfortable, like he was dreaming. He knew the marks were there, but he'd never given it much thought as to what they actually meant. Where they might have come from.

"I don't know..." he said softly. "I don't remember."

OJ left his hand on his stomach, watched it rise and fall, and his skin was even and smooth over all of Lucky's mismatched scars. There were no white scratches permanently peeking from the edge of his shirt, ancient claws didn't leave trails across his chest. His hands, his body, were normal.

"I don't know what you did before we found you..." OJ spoke quietly, still staring down at Lucky's chest, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. "But I don't think it was with us."

As much as he might have suspected that, that didn't mean he wanted to hear it. Lucky lowered his eyes and reached for the edges of his shirt to pull it closed again. "I guess..."

"You know, you say that a lot." OJ reached out and took his hand, stopping him, and he looked up and met his eyes. "You alright?"

Lucky looked back down at their hands, and his knuckles were large in comparison to OJ's, his skin broken in dozens of places. He felt very heavy all of a sudden, very alone. "I want to have been one of you," he mumbled, without looking up. "I want to be normal."

"Lucky, _Lucky_ , come on. Look at me." Lightly admonishing, and he touched his cheek. "You're one of us _now_ , alright? It doesn't matter what happened to you before, you're Lucky now. Got it?"

He couldn't meet his eyes. "If I wasn't one of you, then who was I?"

"You start thinking like that, you're gonna go crazy." OJ lifted his chin so he had to look at him. "We'll figure it out someday, but until then, you're Lucky, I'm OJ, and we're both members of the greatest band the Nowhere Islands has ever seen." He smiled at him. "Right?"

He was so confident, like this never bothered him at all. OJ had amnesia just like he did, his life was an unsettling blank void just like his own, but it never seemed to weigh on him like it did with Lucky. The ghost of his past didn't keep interrupting OJ's life, didn't leave a strange history of wounds across him that should have meant something.

OJ smiled at him, warm and reassuring and he could see in his eyes what he was saying, what he wanted him to believe. _It's alright. Trust me. Believe me._

Maybe he wasn't a part of them before this had happened to him. Maybe it was just a coincidence that he'd lost his memory and so had they, and that they happened to find each other. Maybe it was a coincidence that they came to his rescue, that they took him in, that he fit so well with all of them, that they liked him so much. 

Maybe it was all just a coincidence.

Maybe he was just lucky.

"Right," he said, and OJ's smile widened.

"There we go! Now, where were we..."

  
\---

  
He was heading back to his room after leaving rehearsal early, and someone behind him was looking for someone. They kept calling a name, but it didn't seem like the person they were looking for was around because they weren't responding. Come to think of it, only staff should have been allowed back here, so who-

"Duster!" Someone grabbed his wrist and spun him around. "Come on, didn't you hear me?"

It was her, Violet. Her hair was slightly in disarray, make-up a bit smeared, but it was definitely her. She had a fire behind her eyes that he didn't see with anyone else at the club.

"Are you talking to me?" Lucky said, and he tried to pull his hand free but she refused to let go. 

"Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, duh!" She put a hand on her hip, frowning. "Didn't you hear me?"

He scratched along his jaw line. "I don't think so. Are you sure I'm who you're looking for?"

"Yeah, I'm sure! Sheesh." She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Duster, playtime's over. We gotta get out of here before they figure out who we are."

He stared at her for a long moment. "...Who's Duster?"

" _You're_ Duster!" she said, blinking at him in disbelief. "Who else would I be talking to?"

"You must have made a mistake..." He pulled at his hand again. Violet obviously thought he was someone else, and the look on her face made him think it was going to end badly for him once she figured that out. How could he get out of this? "My name's Lucky, I'm a bassist..."

She gave him a piercing look. "Lucky?" Like it was a joke.

"Yeah, I'm Lucky... the bassist, I don't know anything about any Duster." He wished he did though, if only to calm her down. Why wasn't she letting him go? He really would've liked her to let him go. "I can help you look for him, if you want..."

It was like he'd insulted her, said something totally outrageous and that wasn't at all what he'd been expecting or hoping. She yanked on his arm to bring him down a little to her height, and he didn't think to resist. "You're _Duster,_ " she stated, squeezing his wrist for emphasis. "Remember?"

"No, I don't." It would have been really great if someone could walk by and intervene. Where were the bouncers? Wasn't this their job? "I don't remember anything, I have amnesia." Maybe that would help her realize she'd made a mistake.

Violet blinked at him, her mouth open for a few seconds, then she began pulling him down the hallway towards his- their rooms, he realized. "Oh cut the crap, Duster! You don't have _amnesia_! We don't have time for this!"

"I'm not- I'm telling the truth, I really don't remember." He stumbled after her, still trying to break free. Her grip was like iron. "I'm sorry, but I don't know who this Duster person is-"

"Then what about that, huh?" She turned around and pointed at his left leg. "What's that about?"

He blinked at her, although he was grateful at least that they'd stopped. It wasn't like he had the easiest time walking as it was - getting dragged by the hand by an angry woman definitely didn't help. "What?"

"Your leg, Duster! You're telling me you just _happen_ to have a limp?"

Lucky tilted his head at her; was he dreaming? Was this a dream, was that why nothing made any sense? "I... don't know what you mean? I've always had a limp."

"Yeah-" And she stopped, sighed, pressed a hand to her face. There was an awkward moment of silence. "Okay. Are you seriously tellin' me you have amnesia?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "All of us in the DCMC do."

She still had her hand pressed over her face. "Okay. Great. This is just great. Are you sure?"

"...Yeah, I'm pretty sure." He felt a little put out. She obviously wanted something from him and seemed irritated that he wasn't giving it to her, but he didn't know what it was. Something about this felt both unfair and familiar, and it bothered him deep down somewhere. "I'm sorry, miss, but I really think you have the wrong person..."

"No, I'm pretty sure I have the right one." She let out a long sigh. "Crap. This is the last thing we need."

Another awkward silence, and he tugged at his wrist. "Look, I'm sorry I'm not who you're looking for, but I really have to go..."

Without warning, she reached out and grabbed his tie, pulling him forward with a short gasp. She stared directly into his eyes, intense, frowning. "Your name is Duster. Got it?"

He waited a few seconds to catch his breath (How did she move so quickly?) before shaking his head. "Why Duster?"

"What?"

"Why Duster? That's sort of a weird name, don't you think?" He raised a hand to try and untangle her grip. "I mean... why not Ben, or Edgar, or Lance, or something?"

"Are you kidding me with this?!" She began stalking down the hallway again, this time dragging him by his tie which was much worse than his wrist, and he struggled to keep up with her without tripping. "I'm not playing with you, Duster!"

Couldn't she slow down just a little? "I'm not- my name is Lucky-"

"Shut up!" She threw open the door to the room beside his own and pulled him inside. "This is serious, Duster!"

"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about!" He held up his hands, trying to placate her. She let him go so she could slam the door behind them, giving him a few seconds to straighten up and try to regain his balance. All of this was happening entirely too fast; what did she even want from him? What was she planning? What should he do? Should he call for help? This entire thing already felt completely out of his control. Something about her attitude, the frustration in her voice, the potential for anger if provoked, left him feeling powerless and small. Some ancient pattern written into his memory, _be quiet, be obedient, endure._

His tie was tight around his neck and it was a little difficult to breathe, but he didn't have much of a chance to loosen it before Violet started pushing him from behind towards her bed. His sense of balance was already shot just being dragged along the hallway, and this did him no favors. She knew he had a limp; couldn't she have been a little gentler about all this? Lucky weaved, stumbled once but he felt her fingers twist in his shirt and she refused to let him fall. 

At no point did it occur to him to try and break away from her to escape, or that that was even an option. 

When they got close enough to the bed, she whirled him around and sat him down before he could fall over, her hands locked onto his shoulders. She stared directly into his eyes as he tried to reorient himself.

"Duster."

At least he was sitting down now. "That's not my-"

"Duster. It's me. It's Kumatora."

Like that was supposed to mean something to him? Hadn't anyone noticed he was gone, or seen what happened? Where were those bouncers already? "I'm sorry, I don't know you... isn't your name Violet?"

She frowned, but kept staring at him. She had a burning gaze, something behind it that prickled, like she was looking straight into his mind. "Kumatora, the princess? The princess of Osohe Castle? You know, the girl you were supposed to escort? None of that rings a bell?"

He stared at her blankly.

"Do you really not remember that at all?" She leaned back, burying a hand in her hair. Her fingers brushed against one of the pins holding it back, apparently reminding her that it was there, and she grunted in irritation. She always moved so quickly - in seconds she'd pulled out the pins and turned away from him, shaking her hair free. It was longer than he thought it would be, and he'd never seen hair that color before. Was it natural? He got the sudden urge to touch it, which he immediately tamped down (What was wrong with him? Did he _want_ to make her angrier? Why would he want to do that?). "Ugh, so annoying. Okay, there's no way you can't remember everything. There's gotta be a way to get through to you."

Lucky wasn't sure what to say to that, so he stayed quiet instead. The others had warned him, when their fanbase was growing and screams of _I love you Lucky!!_ from the crowd became more and more frequent, that some people might claim that they knew him before he lost his memory just to try and get close to him. It had happened to the others - people who told them stories about who they must have been, only for them to find out later that some of their things had been stolen, that they wanted to get their friends backstage. 

It wasn't that someone from his old life finding him again was impossible but just... that he should be careful, and skeptical. The DCMC were all in the same boat, after all, and it left them all similarly vulnerable to manipulation if they didn't watch out for it.

Obviously, this girl thought she knew him, but nothing about her seemed familiar to him at all, and nothing she said made any sense. Sure, it could have been true, but it just as likely could have been a lie. Be cautious.

"Man, what'll make you remember... oh, I know!" She dug into the front of her outfit and pulled out a blue necklace. She quickly lifted it over her head and held it out to him. "Remember this? You got to remember this, right?"

He stared at it for a moment, not moving, until she shook it with an annoyed huff, and he took the hint and pulled it from her hands. It was pretty, sure, and it sparkled with what seemed like an inner light, but it was jewelry, nothing more.

"It's a pretty necklace," he said, since she was getting obviously impatient waiting for him to say something.

"Yeah, it's mine. Remember? You stole it."

He jumped and nearly dropped it on the floor. "What?! I never- I wouldn't do that! I'm not a thief!"

"Yes you are!" She held her hands out to him, exasperated. "That's exactly what you are, you're a thief!"

"No I'm not!" Like he'd do something like that? He'd never stolen anything from anyone! "This is- I'm sorry I'm not who you think I am but really, I should go -"

"You're not goin' anywhere." She planted a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down on the bed. She held up the necklace with her other hand. "You don't remember stealing this from me?"

"No- You must have me confused with someone else." This was rapidly spiraling out of control - what else would she accuse him of? Was that it, did she want to blackmail him with crimes he didn't remember committing? The others would vouch for him, wouldn't they? "I'm a bassist, I just play music, that's all I do."

"Come on, you really don't remember this?" She waved the necklace back and forth. "I got stuck in that trap, and you and your dad came and got me out, and I saw you had my necklace, remember? And I asked you to be my escort?"

What was she _talking_ about? He stared at her and shook his head. "I don't remember anything like that, miss, I swear. I just play music. I really should go-"

She leaned away from him, and for once her fiery gaze dampened a little. Almost as if she was disappointed. "Huh. And I thought for sure you'd remember that, it was the first time we met and everything." She frowned, then shrugged and tucked the necklace in her pocket. "Hmph, well. Whatever. There's gotta be somethin' that'll make you remember."

Silence as she pressed a knuckle to her mouth in apparent thought, her hand still on his shoulder keeping him from getting up. What was he supposed to do at this point? He didn't think Violet was crazy exactly, but he was getting more and more uncomfortable around her. She was... unpredictable.

"Really, I should be going..." He might as well try.

"I got it." She snapped her fingers. "I know something you'll remember for sure."

He gave her a look, but didn't move. Violet leaned back in close to him, hands on his shoulders, completely serious and she stared deep into his eyes. Again there was that prickling feeling behind her gaze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Her eyes were vibrant, not the same color as her hair but just as bright. Unreal, in a way, like she wasn't human; intense, like she could see right through him, pull what she wanted out of him.

"Wes."

They stared at each other for a few seconds more as she waited for the epiphany she was sure would come.

"...Like, north, south, east, west...?" Lucky ventured.

" _No_." She shook him a little. "Like your _dad_ , Wes."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed in thought. "...I have a dad?"

"Yes!" She leaned back, throwing her arms up. "Your dad, Wes! The old geezer! The guy who sprung me from that trap! Who kept callin' you a moron all the time! Your dad, remember?"

He kept staring at her, eyes tight in focus, and he shook his head. "...None of that sounds right."

"Come on, he's your dad! How can you not remember him? He's a big-time thief, he used to hang out with me when I was a kid, you know. He's like this high?" She held her hand near her waist. "Got a poof of hair up here?" Gestured at the top of her head. "White old man beard?" Drawing her fingers around her mouth. "Really? Nothing?"

He stared at her.

"You seriously can't even remember your own dad?" She seemed to deflate a little, her arms falling to her sides. She looked at him with a strange mixture of emotion now, something like disappointment and maybe pity. "Come on."

He shook his head, staring at the floor. Something about that expression made him feel uncomfortable, like it wasn't meant for him. "I don't remember anything, I told you."

She waited a few seconds, frowning in thought, caught somewhere between concern and hesitance. For the first time, he got the impression that she was carefully considering her words, weighing her options, deciding whether or not it was something she should actually say.

"Moron."

He flinched even though it wasn't that harsh an insult, an instinctual urge to withdraw and brace himself with no source. Why would she say something like that to him? He hadn't been anything but polite to her. Why was she treating him like this? It wasn't like he deserved it, and something about that panged deep down, a faint echo from far away that made him feel tense and helpless and uncomfortably exposed, like she'd reached into him, through him, was collaborating with the ghost of his past that was constantly tormenting him. Why was she doing this to him? Why was she looking at him like that? Why did he feel like this?

"I should go." He stood, finally moved to his own action and she was back by his side, although she didn't push him back down this time. She hung near his arm, touching him.

"I saw that, you remember! You remember somewhere still, I know it. Your dad used to call you that."

"No he didn't." He turned away from her, he just wanted to get away from her. He didn't want to deal with any of this anymore, he didn't want to feel like this, what difference would it make anyway? He wasn't that person anymore, and no matter how she might make him feel, it didn't bring any of his memories back. Ghosts were still ghosts.

"He did, I even told him to knock it off-"

"If I have a dad, why didn't he come find me then?" Lucky looked back at her, more emotion than he'd expected in his words. "Why isn't he here?"

For the first time, he caught her off-guard. Violet blinked, wide-eyed and she looked around the room for an answer. "I don't know, maybe he doesn't know you're here..."

He waited for more than that, but she had nothing else to offer him. _Be skeptical, ask questions. Don't make it easy._

"You know who I really am, right?" Lucky said. She looked a little taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor.

"Yeah, we were all tryin' to-"

"Then where do I live?"

She stared at him for a few seconds before burying a hand in her hair, biting her lip. "Uh... the village? What was that place's name... Tazmily? I think you lived there, somewhere."

Lucky raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"Well, not really, I mean..."

"Okay, then how old am I?"

That same awkward look. "Uh... I'm not really sure, actually..."

"Who were my friends? Or my family? Who's my mom?"

She searched the ground for a few seconds, then looked back at him and shrugged. "The only one I met was your dad..."

"Do you know where I got any of these?" He held up his hands, indicated the scars marking their way across them. Her eyes widened.

"Holy crap, I never got a good look at those before. Jeez."

They stared at each other.

"I'm not lying to you, Duster. I promise. This is too important for that."

"Do you really know anything about me?"

A few seconds of silence, and Violet rubbed the back of her neck. "Okay, we really... well, we really only met for a few hours, so I didn't get your life story, okay? But I know who you really are."

"A few hours...?" Skeptical.

"But I know you're you! I know it! There's got to be some way to make you remember..." She paced back and forth. "What about your thief tools, do you still have those?"

"I'm not a thief." He turned for the door. "Why would I need tools?"

"You _are_ a thief- ugh. You should have had them! They were all in these pouches on your belt, like... there was this swingy thing, and a mask, and all these smoke bombs..."

That same dark feeling he got when he'd seen them at first, when he'd run his hands over them. Something warning him away.

"I need to go."

"Do you remember any of those? Or the egg, do you remember the egg? This is really important, Duster, if the Pigmasks get it, we're goin' to be in REAL big trouble."

He stopped, an unfamiliar chill rippling through him like someone had walked over his grave. There was no way... how did she know about the egg? He'd been alone when he woke up and alone when he'd hidden it, he was sure of it. How could she know? She had to be lying, nothing she said made any sense or sounded right at all, but how did she know? Who was she anyway?

_Be careful._ He could hear Shimmy's voice in his head. _Be careful, be careful._

"What are you talking about?"

"The egg! The Hummingbird Egg! Remember? The Pigmasks were tryin' to get it, and we were tryin' to steal it before they could grab it, remember?"

"Why would the Pigmasks want an egg?" The idea was ridiculous, and it probably showed in his voice.

"Just... because, okay?" And something about that justification was familiar, rang a chord faintly somewhere, and he felt increasingly frustrated. He was tired of hearing that. "It's complicated, I don't want to talk about it too much right now 'cause it's not safe, but it's really important. Do you remember what happened to it? Do you still have it?"

No, this wasn't right. This wasn't right, none of this was right. None of this added up at all. If there was one thing he knew, it was that the egg was important and had to be protected. She could tell him all the fairy tales she wanted about who she thought he was, but he wasn't about to forget what was important. She wanted the egg, and it was his job to protect it. He couldn't trust her - how could he?

But how did she know?

He'd had enough, he felt all twisted up inside and frustrated and confused and he'd had enough. He turned around and faced her, holding up a hand. "Look, I'm not who you think I am. I'm Lucky now, that's all. You've got the wrong guy."

"Duster-"

"I'm Lucky." And he headed for the door. "Good luck with finding who you're looking for."

He thought she'd try and stop him, but strangely she let him go. He wasn't about to question it; he'd had enough of this entire thing. He made his way to his own room, shut the door, sat on his bed, and his eyes were drawn to the drawer where he'd hidden his belt when he'd come here.

Castles, eggs, princesses, it all sounded like nonsense. None of the other stories the others had warned him about were nearly as ridiculous. Did she think he was that stupid, to believe something like that? 

How did she know about the egg, or his belt? That couldn't have been who he was... could it? A thief, like the ones who stole from the vendors outside the club, or the ones that populated the streets of the big city he heard so much about, beating and robbing their victims? Was that why he had all these scars, from getting caught stealing from innocent people? Hurting people?

Was he capable of that? Who was he, anyway? Did that blank nothingness that cloaked his old life hide a monster, a cruel person that didn't care about anything but their own gain? Was he someone who could threaten someone at knifepoint, take what wasn't his by force? Was that dark side just lying dormant, waiting for his memories to return before rising again?

No, he wasn't a thief. He was a bass player. He was good at it. People loved him, the DCMC loved him, he was happy here. All he wanted to do was play music, he didn't want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to live his life quietly and in peace.

How did she know about the egg? Who was she? Who was _he_?

He didn't want to think about this anymore, who or what was hiding behind the nothingness. He stood up and went over to his bass, forced himself to tune and strum out a few songs. Nothing else, nothing else. He was no one else. He was Lucky now, that was all. That was all.

He kept telling himself that as he plucked out the same few notes over and over.

  
\---

  
"Who do you think you were before you lost your memories?"

The five of them were sitting at an isolated booth in the club, unwinding after a long day of practicing. OJ sat next to him on his right, his arm pressed against his own in a constant reminder that he was there, and Shimmy sat by his other side, long fingers poised around the rim of his glass.

"Man, who knows?" Magic shrugged and leaned back against the cushions. "I think I must've been playing guitar before, 'cause it didn't take me any time to pick it up again. Just bam!" He snapped his fingers. "Like I'd always been doing it, you know?"

"I think I'm the same way," Shimmy said. "When I touched the keys, I just knew, you dig?" A small flourish with one hand. His gestures were always so theatrical. "I must've had it in me somewhere."

"What if..." Lucky toyed with his own drink. "What if you did something... what if you weren't a good person, before?"

The others stared at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Like..." It was hard to speak but he had to ask, it was driving him crazy. He couldn't get what Violet said out of his head. "What if you hurt someone, or stole something, or were a criminal or a thief or something before all this happened, and you just don't remember doing it?"

Baccio leaned forward on his elbows, adjusting his sunglasses. "Lucky, did someone tell you that's what _you_ did?"

He blinked - he didn't think he'd be that transparent. The others, as always, were quick to rally around him.

"Is that it, did someone pull the ol' 'hey remember me' line on you?"

"Man, we told you not to listen to junk like that! Some people got no class, they'll say anything just to be famous for a few seconds."

"What'd they say you did?"

"Well-"

"It doesn't matter what they said he did, our Lucky's a great guy, we all know that." OJ threw an arm around his shoulders, and Shimmy raised a glass. "Am I right?"

They all raised their glasses, a loud chorus of "Yeah! Tondagossa!" that made Lucky feel a little silly for even bringing it up, though he couldn't help smiling. 

"There's no way you'd do anything like that, Lucky." Baccio crossed his arms and nodded his head, case closed.

"Yeah, you don't got a bad bone in your body." Magic grinned at him. "You wouldn't even smack a mosquito for biting you!"

They laughed, all so close to him, and this felt right, this felt like it was supposed to be this way. Would he feel like this if he'd really been a thief? Wouldn't he be tempted to steal from them, if that's who he used to be? He wouldn't have fit in with the rest of them if he'd been someone like that, right? 

They wouldn't love him so much if he was someone like that... right?

"Awww, check it out, Lucky the criminal's blushing! That's how you know he's got a real black heart, huh?" Shimmy nudged him, and he looked down at his drink, smiling in spite of himself.

"I am not."

"What do you guys think, you scared of him yet?" OJ ruffled his wig, knocking it askew a little, and Lucky pushed him away with one hand, laughing.

"Man, who could even look at you and think 'wow, that guy's trouble' anyway?" Magic crossed his arms, one pierced eyebrow raised, still smiling. "Like 'yeah, _that's_ the guy who'll cut your throat!'"

"I bet it's the hands." Shimmy nodded sagely, and OJ rolled his eyes. "You can tell a lot about a guy from his hands."

"Aw yeah you can." And OJ and Magic high-fived, and another burst of laughter broke up the conversation.

"So what, a guy gets his hands slashed up, that makes 'em a master criminal?" Baccio held out his own hands and, like OJ's, there were no pale lines or cuts across his skin. Normal, like the others. "There's lots of ways to get your hands cut up."

"Maybe Lucky used to be a chef and was just bad with knives." Magic leaned back, his hands behind his head. "Or maybe he used to be a blacksmith or have a bunch of cats or something. See? No problem. You're totally normal, dude, one hundred percent."

"If he was a chef, he must have been REALLY bad at knives." Shimmy smirked. "Didn't get your hand confused for a steak, didja, Lucky?"

"What, _both_ hands? That takes talent, dude! Maybe he was a great chef who pioneered cutting up both your hands at the same time!" Magic sighed melodramatically. "You were so ahead of your time, Lucky, no one understood your methods."

"What kind of restaurants do _you_ go to?"

"Think about it this way, Lucky," OJ said, as usual getting them back on course. He gestured at the others sitting around the table. "We spend a lot of time together, right?"

"That's for sure," Baccio said.

"So we've had a lot of time to get to know you pretty well, right?"

"Yeah..." Lucky said, taking a drink.

"So, if you really had the heart of a thief or somethin', we'd probably know, right?"

"You definitely don't." Magic shook his head. "I'm telling you."

"How well did the chick who told you that know you, anyway?" Shimmy leaned on one hand. "It was a chick, wasn't it? I bet it was."

"Well... yeah." And the others all groaned in unison. 

"There's your problem!"

"Did she even have any proof?"

"You can't just roll over for a pretty face, Lucky."

"No, she didn't have any proof, exactly." He toyed with his glass a little. "It just got me wondering... there's so much I don't remember. I could've done anything before I came here..."

"Well, yeah, but so could any of us, right?" Magic held out his hands. "Maybe we're all thieves and criminals, maybe we were super-rich princes, maybe we were all scientists or had magic powers or whatever!" He slapped the table. "It's all a bunch of maybes, right?"

"Magic's got a point..." Baccio looked at Lucky and shrugged. "You can fill up a lot of nothing with whatever you want. Why make it something bad?"

"Until you remember it all yourself, you'll never know, right?" Shimmy traced a pattern into the table with a fingertip. "If you're gonna do some improv with your life, you might as well make it fun."

"We're all right here, right now, and we all got each other." OJ rested a hand on his shoulder. "When it comes down to it, that's all that matters."

"Right." Baccio held up his glass.

"Right..." Lucky said, a little more softly.

"Don't worry, Lucky." OJ raised a hand to order another drink. "We got your back, no matter what. Whatever happens, happens."

"Destiny brought you to us, after all, and we're pretty amazing." Shimmy smiled at him. "So you couldn't'a been doing anything too bad, right?"

Another round of drinks came and the conversation meandered off-topic, and it was easy enough to forget he'd even started it. They all had complete faith in him, even though they didn't know anything about him. He could have been anyone, he could have been a monster, a murderer, but all they cared about was who he was right now. 

They trusted him to be who he was. That his behavior told the truth of who he'd been. And if all four of them could trust him so completely, believe in him so thoroughly, then how could he doubt himself?

He was Lucky. He had to be.

  
\---

  
"It was Violet, wasn't it?"

He jerked his head up, a bit startled, and the book he was reading slipped out of his hands onto the floor. "Huh?"

OJ stood by his door, his arms crossed with his usual easy smile. "Heh, there's that look again. It was Violet who said you were a criminal, right?"

Lucky glanced at the wall separating his room from hers, and he reached down to pick the book back up. "...She said I was a thief, actually."

"Athief? You?" OJ tilted his head, an eyebrow raised. "She sure she has the right guy?"

"She seemed sure..."

"'Cause I've never seen you take anything. Hell, you're always the last person to take any when we get a veggie plate or something. She really thinks you'll believe that?"

"Well..." He set the book down on his bed, but didn't turn back around to face the doorway. A few moments of silence passed, then he heard OJ come further into the room.

"What is it?" He sounded a little more serious now.

"She knew some things about me... things from before I came here that I still remember." He pressed a hand to his forehead. "But none of what she said makes any sense."

A moment of thought, and OJ sat beside him on the bed. "What kind of things?"

"She... knew what I came here with." He didn't feel comfortable talking about it somehow, like that'd make what she'd said true, and he didn't want to be a thief. He didn't want that be what his life was. Who he was. "What I had with me."

OJ was quiet for a few seconds. "Do you still have that stuff with you?"

"Yeah, I keep it in a drawer... I didn't tell anyone about it."

Another few seconds, and OJ leaned back on his hands, looking up towards the ceiling. "Doesn't mean she might not have found it anyway while you weren't here."

He hadn't thought of that. If she'd been poking in his room while he was gone, then she could've found his belt that way. That still didn't explain the egg, but at least it was something.

"...That's true..."

"Do you think she really knows who you were?"

"I don't know... she didn't know a lot about me, really, just a few things, but I can't stop thinking about them. It wasn't a lot but... maybe she did know me."

"Maybe, maybe. There we go again." OJ waved a hand. "Look, maybe she did know you, maybe she didn't. You can't know one way or another until you get your memory back. What did she want?"

It was his job to protect the egg... and even if he didn't think for a minute that OJ would ever do anything with it, or even have any interest in it, it was important enough for him to be careful anyway. "She said there was a job we hadn't finished... she wanted me to come with her so we could get it done."

"Come with her?" Confused, maybe a little annoyed. "To where? To do what?"

"I don't know, she didn't say. But..."

Silence between them.

"Are you thinking about going with her?"

Lucky looked down at his feet against the carpet. Like his hands, they bore age-old evidence of damage. What had he done in his old life? Why was he like this? "...I just wish I knew what was going on."

A moment, then OJ moved closer to him, put his hands around his shoulders in a sideways embrace. There was a sincerity to his voice that he wasn't used to, a seriousness entirely unfamiliar. "Lucky, listen. You do this thing where just 'cause someone tells you to do something, you think you gotta do it, and honestly, sometimes that makes me worry about you a little."

He turned to look at him, completely at a loss for how to respond to that, and true to his word, OJ looked openly concerned for him. For _him_. He wasn't prepared for that at all, and for some reason it made him feel terrible.

"Just 'cause she wants you to go with her somewhere doesn't mean you have to, or that you should, even," OJ said, still speaking softly, and Lucky couldn't take his eyes away from his. There was something gentle there he'd never seen before in someone - something for him, because of him, that he didn't understand. Something deep. "What do _you_ want to do?"

He knew the answer, and even though there was some faint specter of his past telling him it was selfish, telling him that he couldn't just ignore this, that she still knew about the egg and that meant something, that he wasn't one of them and he knew it, he had to know it, it felt like he was lying to say anything else.

"I want to stay with you."

OJ's eyes softened, and he touched his cheek. "Then stay with us. If that's what you want, then stay."

"But..." He couldn't look away from him. He couldn't remember anyone looking at him like that before and he didn't want him to stop.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, alright? No one's gonna make you do anything, me and the guys'll make sure of it. And if you change your mind, something comes up, you remember yourself... then we'll figure something out when it happens. But right now... what do you want?"

He knew what he should do, he knew there was something he was ignoring, he knew there was some kind of responsibility that egg had entailed that he hadn't shaken yet. A life that someday he'd be held accountable for, whatever it was that he'd done. This wouldn't last forever. He wasn't like them. This wasn't for him, he must have known that somewhere, the ghost of his old life constantly reminding him in thousands of little ways. 

That wasn't the question though.

_I want to be happy._ And his eyes stung a little. _I just want to be happy._

"I want to stay."

OJ stroked his cheek with his thumb. "Then that's what you're gonna do. We're with you all the way."

  
\---

  
It was late and they were tired, and their impromptu jam session had slipped off the rails a while ago. It started when they were trying out a new number Baccio had come up with, a swing song with a lot of energy, and Magic's fingers slipped and he hit the wrong chord. Normally they were able to roll with that kind of thing, improvise around it, but at this time of night, it was hard to think clearly.

They all dwindled off, looking over to him and Magic burst out laughing. He hit the same terrible chord again, louder this time, and Lucky couldn't help a smile.

"I'm on to something, guys!" That same wrong chord, and OJ took a few steps towards him, grinning.

"Knock it off, you're throwing everyone off!"

"No way, this is the best!" Every time he hit the chord, it somehow got funnier, and the two of them mock wrestled for the guitar.

"Stop that, it's awful, you're the worst-"

"Let go, like you know anything about music-"

And the two of them were interrupted by Shimmy playing that exact same terrible chord on the keyboard, smirking at them both.

"Ah, see! Shimmy's on my side!"

"You're both crazy!" OJ backed up and let him go, a bit breathless, and waved an arm at Baccio. "Baccio, back me up on this!"

He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful hand to his chin, trying hard not to smile. "I dunno..."

Lucky was already laughing to begin with, but then Shimmy and Magic tried to play at the same time, clashing so badly that they both grimaced and it was hard not to wince. They waited a few seconds for the sound to fade, then started at it in earnest, both of them playing as badly as possible. It was a ridiculous noisy mess that only got sillier and sillier while OJ waved his arms, trying to get them to stop.

"You guys are gonna ruin our reputation!" OJ tried to sound serious but couldn't help himself, he was laughing just as hard as they were.

"You're standing in the way of progress, man!"

"This is Grade-A stuff, OJ! Open your mind!"

Then Magic found the first few notes of King P's theme and promptly mangled them almost beyond recognition, off-key and warbling, and Lucky almost couldn't breathe, tears in his eyes.

"Agh, stop! Stop!"

"Excuse me!"

The five of them turned their attention to the front of the stage, laughter slowly dying down. 

"Oh hey, didn't think anyone was out there." OJ ran a hand through his hair, still catching his breath. "You need somethin' from the greatest band in the world, babe?"

Magic played a single off-key note and OJ smacked his shoulder.

"I was just wondering if I could borrow Lucky for a few seconds," Violet said, giggling. It took him a few seconds to recognize her - she was so completely different when other people were around. Her posture, her voice, her attitude...

OJ looked over to him. "You cool with that, Lucky?" He said it casually, but he kept eye contact.

The others were still smiling, and Lucky still felt a bit euphoric from laughter, and he didn't think as much about it as perhaps he should have. "As long as it doesn't take too long." And he grinned at Magic and Shimmy. "We were just working on a new song."

"Aw yeah, Lucky's on my side! Tondagossa!" Magic pumped a fist and OJ groaned in exaggerated exasperation. Lucky set his bass to one side, still smiling, and made his way to the edge of the stage. When he passed by OJ, he slapped Lucky's back, and he glanced back at him to see him giving a thumbs-up. 

"Don't go too far, alright?" OJ said, and in spite of the light mood, Lucky caught his meaning. _Don't worry, we'll be right here._

He sat down on the edge of the stage, and Violet tittered and held her hand out. "Oh, that's no good! C'mon, just a little farther! It won't take a second!"

The others catcalled at him, not that that surprised him, and he made a show of not paying attention. It'd only encourage them. He took her hand and she led him a short distance away, enough so that they wouldn't easily be overheard, but were still in sight. This time, she walked slowly enough so that it was easy for him to keep up, which he appreciated. Was it part of her act around the others, or had she realized how hard it was for him when she dragged him around? Her hand felt worn in his own, her fingers were rough like his.

"You remember anything, Duster?" Her voice changed completely, much lower and more even, the constant rise at the end of each sentence gone. This was the Violet he knew.

"Not a thing, sorry." It was still hard to shake off his good mood, and he smiled at her apologetically.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." She sighed, but she didn't seem as irritated as the last time they'd spoken. Maybe his good mood was contagious; he could have sworn he almost saw her smile, genuinely. She raised a thin eyebrow at him. "Least you're having fun, huh?"

Lucky shrugged, feeling too light to think too hard about any of this. "I guess." Well, he had been before she interrupted them all. 

They stood there for a second, and he could faintly hear his bandmates still bickering and messing around a little while away. He hoped he wasn't missing anything good.

"You know..." he said. "If you knew me before I came here, why did you wait so long to tell me anything?"

"I couldn't get you alone." Violet looked at the stage, and this time she was definitely, sincerely smiling. It was a fond smile, something gentler and more complicated than he'd expected from her. He liked it - something about it made him feel at ease. "You were always with those bozos over there."

He followed her line of sight, and OJ and Magic were fighting over the guitar again with Baccio goading them on, and Shimmy was improvising a soundtrack for them all, and he found himself smiling in much the same way as she was.

"Yeah..." he said. "We spend a lot of time together."

"Yeah, you do," she said, with a faint sigh. She looked back to him. "I never seen you laugh like that before."

"Huh?"

"Up there, with them." She gestured back at the stage. A moment, and her eyes softened with a realization, a tinge of pity along the edges but mostly something else as she looked at him. "Actually, I dunno if I ever heard you laugh before at all."

That was a sobering thing to say, and he wasn't really sure how to respond at first. Was that true? That couldn't be right...

"But I guess I didn't know you for very long, so." She shrugged, forcing a bit of lightness back into her tone. "You don't remember anything at all?"

He shook his head.

"What about the egg?" And her voice dropped on the last word. "Anything about that?"

He wasn't sure what to say, and he looked back at the stage. They all looked like they were having so much fun. He wanted to be back up there.

"Can you at least tell me it's safe?" She leaned in close to him, nearing a whisper, and he found himself wanting to lean in closer to her in response. Where did that come from?

"It's safe," he said, matching her tone. 

"Good." She breathed a sigh of relief. "You're sure?"

"Yeah." He was pretty sure.

The two of them looked at the stage, watched the other members of the DCMC goof around.

"You don't remember where it is? Just that it's safe?"

He did remember where it was. He remembered exactly where it was. He also remembered what OJ had told him, and that it was his job to protect it. 

She was still a stranger to him. He couldn't risk it for a stranger. The egg was too important, even if he didn't know why. 

"Yeah."

"Well..." And Violet huffed. She turned around and looked at him, clapping him on the shoulder. "Looks like I'll have to stick around until you remember, huh?"

She grinned at him, like it was a game, and it was hard not to return it.

"Guess so."

"Lucky, you done over there? Come on!" Magic called to him from across the theater. He shrugged.

"Looks like my time's up."

"Right." She crossed her arms, still smiling at him. "Have fun."

He left her to go rejoin his friends, all of whom were buzzing with questions about what they'd talked about which he waved off, and eventually they settled down enough to get a little practice in, although most of the night was taken up with exhausted silliness and joking and laughter.

He did notice on occasion when he looked up from his bass that Violet hadn't left. She sat near the back of the theater, watching him with that faint fond smile.

  
\---

  
Free time was becoming an increasingly rare commodity.

When he wasn't practicing with the DCMC, or entangled with OJ, Violet took up the rest of his time. She often watched the band rehearse, standing in the back of the theater smiling or on occasion clapping when they were particularly on their game, giggling disarmingly when some of the others flirted with her. When she wasn't watching him play, she'd run into him coming out of his room, bump into him while he was walking around, happen to be there when he was going to get something to eat. Without fail, she'd ask him if he'd remembered anything, and he always had to tell her that he hadn't. Over time it became routine, the deeper meanings and implications of it lost, almost a joke. Their replacement greeting - _Do you remember? Nope._

The others teased him about her, calling her his number one fan, his latest girlfriend, his favorite groupie, but he expected that from them and it didn't bother him. In a way, it helped him feel more like he fit in - they'd never had a chance to tease him about a specific girl before, and they treated him just like they would have treated each other. Another gap in experience filled. 

He and Violet were often too busy to spend too much time together, so their conversations, when they could have them, were short. Violet always asked him questions, trying to find the right one that would unlock the vault of his memories with no success. As for him, he didn't have many questions of his own, except for one. 

They were sitting on the edge of the stage, a brief break between her next shift and his concert, and she was telling him stories about the adventures they'd gone on together. Outrageous, unbelievable things about giant snakes and ghosts and magic brooms. He didn't believe a word of it, but she had a flair for storytelling, so he liked to listen anyway.

"None of that rings a bell?" Eternally hopeful that something she'd say would bring the man she knew back. 

"No, sorry." His usual response, and he looked back at the stage. "...Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure."

"...Was I a good person?"

"What?" She looked baffled.

"You said I was a thief before..."

"Yeah, so?" Still baffled, and she stood up and put her hands on her hips, frowning. "Of course you're a good person! Why would you even ask me that?"

"If I was a thief-"

"Yeah, you were a thief but like... a good one. A thief of justice, or somethin' like that." She rolled her eyes, exasperated by the very question. "C'mon Duster, you think I'd even be here if you weren't?"

"Violet, come on! I'm not covering for you again!" From across the theater, and as always it was bookended with a false giggle. Lucky really didn't know why all the waitresses here did that. Violet heaved a huge sigh, paused, and leaned her head back, her hands on her temples. When she straightened up, she'd taken on her other persona - her eyes, her stance, her voice all completely different.

"Back to the salt mines," she said, her hand near her mouth as she laughed. "Don't worry about it, okay? Anyone can see that a sweetheart like you's a good person, Lucky! Hee hee!"

And she was off, one hand held up primly by her side, her feet close together on an invisible line that made her sway as she walked. How did she balance in those heels? He was so used to dragging his foot that her grace was captivating. Or at least, that was a logical reason why he could never look away from her when she walked away from him, why he studied how her hips moved like a complicated book.

Other than that, he didn't ask too many questions about his old life, who he used to be. Questions made her stories more real, more believable, and he couldn't do that. She had no proof of who he was except her word and the egg, and while he couldn't explain away one of them, he didn't have to believe the other. 

The others warned him when Violet began hanging around him, and consequently them, more often, that the more he got to know her, the more he might start to believe the stories she told about him. Just because he liked her didn't mean she was telling the truth. 

"She wants something from you," Magic said, "and you can't trust a chick who wants something from you."

So he was careful. The stories she told him about Duster were just that, just stories. Just strange, fantastical stories about a man he didn't, and probably would never, know. Why should he believe any of it? The further he distanced himself from this Duster guy, the less reason he had to think about what his old life could have been. 

Things went on in much the same way for a while. Lucky played music, performed at concert after concert, brainstormed new songs with the others, honed and refined his talent. When he had the opportunity, he sought out OJ - sometimes they spent hours together, Lucky consumed with a fierce hunger for him and his touch that he couldn't explain, and other times they only had a few brief moments, a brush of the fingers or a lingering glance. And when he wasn't coming undone under OJ's hands, he was being led around by Violet, asked the same questions over and over again, told the same strange stories.

He might have gone on this way forever, but like so many things, it was taken out of his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a concert just like any other. They'd finished their encore, packed up their things, and were on their way back to their rooms to rest when Violet blocked the way.

"Hey Violet, what's up?" Baccio said.

"All of you need to come with me." It was her normal voice this time, without the unnatural girlish lilt to it. "It's about Lucky."

Everyone exchanged glances, and OJ stepped forward.

"What about Lucky?"

"I'll explain in a second, but just come with me, okay?" She started walking towards the end of the hallway, leading the way without looking back to see what they would do. Already a foregone conclusion in her eyes, no doubt. "It's really important."

Lucky hesitated for a second but followed her, as he usually did. After a second or two, the others followed suit, although they were less than enthusiastic.

"Is it bad?" Magic said.

"Not exactly. Come on, in here." She held open the door to Lucky's room. "It'll be easier to talk in here."

He caught OJ giving him a skeptical look as they all filed in, and he felt a strong sense of foreboding. Whatever it was she wanted, it wasn't going to be good. He knew it, somewhere. Even though he had his bandmates all around him, he felt suddenly alone.

They settled around his room, sitting on this and that, exchanging glances with one another and murmuring. Finally, Violet held up her hands.

"Okay, here's the deal. Someone's here who knows who Lucky really is."

Magic leaned back with his arms crossed. "Pssh, like we haven't heard that before."

"I'm serious about this." She shot him a glare and he rolled his eyes. "It's not me, it's a kid."

"A kid?" Baccio raised an eyebrow.

"Look, stop interrupting me, alright?" Violet huffed. "Let me finish."

After a few seconds of mumbling from the band, she began again. "He's someone you used to know, Lucky, from Tazmily. Where you used to live. He knows who you really are. And he needs you."

He could feel it, a sense that something was happening, a step taken that couldn't be taken back. And with that came the nervous anticipation, the heavy dread of knowing you were about to lose something important and there was nothing you could do. His voice was thin. "...Needs me for what?"

"He needs you to remember."

"But... I can't remember. I don't remember who I was. I don't remember anything." He found himself taking a step back, away from her, and OJ spoke up.

"Yeah, that sorta comes with the amnesia territory, you know? What makes this kid think Lucky'll remember him anyway?"

"I don't know if Lucas can make him remember or not." Violet tapped her foot, frowning. "But we have to try. This is too important. You have to remember where you put the egg, Du- Lucky. It's time for us to go get it."

"...How do you know?"

"Because we can't wait any longer!" Violet said, and he took another step back. "The longer we wait, the more danger everyone's in! We have to find it NOW before the Pigmasks do, or we're all going to be in BIG trouble!"

"Find what? And why?" Baccio tilted his head, skeptical.

"The Pigmasks? The fat, goofy guys always screamin' our names and beggin' for autographs?" Shimmy's tone was much the same. "We talkin' about the same guys?"

"Okay." Violet sighed, a hand to her head. She paused, either getting her thoughts in order or calming herself down. "Better start from the beginning."

The others looked at each other while she took a deep breath. "Three years ago, Lucky helped me get something very important from somewhere. We wanted to make sure the Pigmasks wouldn't get their hands on it. It was called-"

"Why?" Baccio said again.

"It's called the Hummingbird Egg," she shot a glare at Baccio for interrupting her, "and it's got the power to create and destroy whole worlds." A moment where she was either letting that sink in, or thinking about what she'd just said. "Or at least, that's what I was told." She shrugged. "Anyway, me and Lucky got the egg, and we were gonna keep it safe... then Lucky and the egg got lost, and then he lost his memory."

"Got lost? How?"

"It's not important," she said, though Lucky could remember what she'd told him. Apparently they'd fought an enormous water serpent in the depths of a haunted castle, then been swept away by a strange undertow. He could understand why she wouldn't want to get into the details since it sounded ridiculous. 

It also didn't explain why he hadn't washed up on the shore with her or the man she said was his father. Why was he the only one who vanished? She was as frustratingly in the dark about that as he was. If that was what really happened, why were there so many holes?

Baccio didn't seem satisfied by her answer, and from Magic's expression, he wasn't the only one. Shimmy however looked at him, eyebrows raised and his tone strangely casual. "So then, what'dja do with the egg, Lucky?"

Did Shimmy believe her? They'd always told him to be careful, but now he believed her just like that? If they believed her, what did that mean for him? Everyone was looking at him, expecting an answer. What else could he do? 

"I hid it."

"Where?"

"Somewhere safe." Should he say? Was this the right time? He hadn't even seen this kid Violet was talking about, what if this was some kind of trick? He might as well err on the side of caution. 

_Not that it matters,_ some part of him said, _it's not going to make a difference. It's not going to change anything._

"So what does this kid want?" OJ said. "Just wants Lucky to tell him where it is? You don't need all of us here for that, do ya?" 

There was a pause as Violet considered what to say, and her eyes met with Lucky's. There was that soft quality he so rarely saw in her, that tinge of pity and something else.

"We need to take Lucky with us."

This prompted a chorus of surprised "What?" "No way!" and "Why?"s, and Lucky stood there, silent, the encroaching loss he knew was coming leaving him paralyzed.

"He's the only one who knows where it is! Or will, when he remembers. We have to take him with us."

"Can't he just draw you a map or something?"

"What if he doesn't remember?"

"Why's this kid looking for the egg too?"

"Lucky, what do you think?" OJ cut through the arguing, and everyone fell silent to look at him, and then at Lucky. There was an intensity in OJ's stare, a stinging sincerity that made sure his meaning was clear. "What do you want to do?"

_If you change your mind, we'll figure something out when it happens,_ he'd said. Lucky never thought the day would actually come, he wasn't prepared for this. How could he possibly make a decision this important? He had no idea how to do anything like this, he didn't make decisions like this. The enormity of it just made his thoughts _stop_. Lucky swallowed, everyone's eyes on him felt entirely too heavy.

"I don't know... I don't know what to do." He might as well be honest, and Violet was still giving him that sad look.

At that moment, a boy and a dog fell from the ceiling into the room.

"Finally, took you long enough." Violet helped the boy back up on his feet, like there wasn't anything unusual about what had just happened (There was a secret passage into his room this whole time? Why didn't Lucky know about this?). He was a thin, frail looking boy in dirty clothes, his face smudged with dust and slime, several cobwebs strung across his shoulders. The dog behind him was, strangely enough, wearing a hat and a shirt like it was human.

Something about the boy's sad, fearful expression felt familiar. The back of his mind prickled again - an uneasy, unsettled feeling like he was exposed, vulnerable, like someone was rifling through the deepest parts of him. The same kind of feeling he got from Violet when she looked into him but different, stronger in a way.

"Tondagossa." His automatic greeting, something normal while he tried to understand what had happened. "...Who are you?"

"He's the one I was talking about just now, Duster." She held a hand out to the boy... Lucas, she'd said his name was. It didn't sound familiar to him at all.

"So, you're the one trying to run off with Lucky?" OJ had one hand in his pocket and he was smiling, like all of this was nothing to worry about, but there was a tinge of worry in his voice. Lucas turned towards him and gave him an apologetic look.

"Duster, you two know each other," Violet said, trying to keep them on course.

"Duster?" He heard Baccio say quietly behind him to Magic.

"It's true that I don't remember my real name..." Lucky said. "But I've lived as Lucky for years now."

Violet rolled her eyes. "Okay. Lucky, can you tell Lucas everything you remember?"

He looked back down at Lucas. He couldn't attach it to any specific memory, but something about the lost-looking boy, the aura of loneliness around him, resonated in him very far away. Faint ghosts of his past reaching out to him again, trying to tell him something.

That feeling of approaching a yawning precipice kept getting stronger, that change was coming and there wasn't anything he could do.

"...Yeah, alright," Lucky said, softly. "Something really important's happening here, I can tell..."

And he thought, maybe hoped, that one of the others might laugh, cut him off, say something lighthearted that would make things normal again, but no one said anything. They all waited for him to speak, and the pressure of the silence kept him from hesitating too long. 

"I don't remember anything from before I came to Club Titiboo. Not who I was, where I came from, or where I was going." Why hadn't he woken up with Violet and his father? His memories began with the knowledge that he was alone, and he was lost. "But for some reason, I was holding onto a strange egg, like it was the most important thing in the world." He could still remember how it felt in his hands, how the strange sigil on its shell pulsed like a heartbeat. "I didn't know where I was going, so I just kept walking and walking desperately..."

He waited for someone to say something, ask a question, make a joke and no one did. They kept staring at him with rapt attention, waiting for more. He wasn't used to telling stories, or being the center of attention like this. Playing his bass never involved talking.

"All I knew was that the egg was really important for some reason." The phantom of his old life had made that perfectly clear, some unknown consequence for losing it terrible beyond measure. "I knew I absolutely HAD to keep it safe. So... I looked for a place to hide it."

He paused again, waiting for someone to speak up, take over, interrupt and nothing. How did people like Violet and OJ tell stories like this so easily? The more people focused on him, expected things from him, the more awkward he felt. Their attention was draining.

"So I walked and walked and walked... and finally, I buried the egg in a big clump of dirt in a valley, where I knew no one would ever find it."

He opened his mouth to continue and caught Violet's intensifying stare. This was what she'd been waiting for this whole time, and he paused and braced himself. She wasn't going to like this part, but there wasn't much he could do about that now.

"...I still know where it is. I haven't forgotten." 

And while her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open, she didn't say anything. He looked away from her quickly, mentally whispering _sorry, sorry_. "You go up a cliff near a giant waterfall, and..." He tried to think of the words. "They were building something in the distance... I'm not sure what it was, but it looked important. A big tower, I think."

He trailed off, not the best way to end his story but what could he do, that was where it ended. Everyone was silent, apparently considering what he'd said, and he felt like he should keep going but he didn't know what else to say. All that was left was him coming here, and everybody already knew that. Long silences like this made him feel so uncomfortable.

"...Unknown Valley!" Violet snapped her fingers, and he breathed a sigh of relief that people were talking again. "I know where that is, it's Unknown Valley! The egg we all worked so hard to protect is there!" She moved forward and slapped Lucas on the back. "I knew you'd get him to remember, Lucas!" Although she shot Lucky a look that made it clear that she knew he'd been lying to her. "Cmon, let's go get it!"

Lucas smiled, relieved, and Violet laughed, and that was it, it was all over and solved and done with and everything was okay now, or at least, that's how it should have felt. Lucky didn't feel that way though, and judging from their expressions, neither did any of his bandmates.

He had to say something - it had been weighing on his thoughts for so long and if there was any time to say it, it was now.

"...But, am I really Duster?"

Lucas and Violet stopped and looked at him, blinking. He noticed OJ stand up near him, although he didn't say anything.

"If I am this 'Duster' person, then that means I have to leave the band... right?"

Lucas stared at him with such sympathy, it made his heart ache. He couldn't bear it and looked away from him instead, at all his friends and each of them had a similar painful expression, empathy that somehow made things harder. OJ in particular was watching him carefully, and he recognized that look on his face. 

"Duster or Lucky... one of them will cease to exist today... right?!" Emotion colored his voice, more than he intended, and he swallowed and swept an arm out towards his friends. "If it turns out I'm Duster, then what happens to the DCMC?" And he met OJ's eyes. There was no judgment or anger or disappointment, just that same concern he often had for him, the tinges of worry, that soft affection. Lucky's eyes stung, and he turned back to Lucas, and it was like looking in a mirror. Entirely aware of what he was asking him to do, and that just made him feel worse. "But if I stay here as Lucky... what was that egg thing all about?"

Lucas didn't say anything, only staring at him with that awful understanding. Violet kept her hand on the boy's shoulder, her eyes soft in sympathy, and again the pressure felt immense and terrible, like everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to make a decision, to step off the edge, and...

The egg was too important to abandon, it was his responsibility but... he was happy here, he didn't want to go, but he couldn't just forget the egg... it was his job to protect it, what if something happened to it? Everyone's lives depended on it, he couldn't just ignore that... but he liked being here, he liked having friends, he liked being loved, he didn't want to go. He just wanted to play music, why was this _his_ responsibility? Why was this on his shoulders? Why did it have to be like this?

"What should I do?!" He pressed one hand to his wig and looked to the ground, his eyes shut tightly. A tense shiver went through him before it passed and things calmed a little, and his voice was soft and quiet again. "I can't decide..."

For a while, no one said anything.

"...Of course you can't." And Lucky looked up. Shimmy held his hands out to him, his voice calm and even. Like there was nothing to worry about and as always, he added a perfect flourish with one hand while he spoke. "All you can do is ask destiny."

Lucky stared at him, blinking, then he saw Baccio nod beside him thoughtfully.

"Yeah." It was always hard to read Baccio's expression behind his sunglasses, but he sounded just as calm. "If destiny decides it, I'll say goodbye to you with a smile on my face." With a particular emphasis on _if_ , and a reassuring promise beneath his words that whichever way things turned out, it'd be okay.

We're still your friends, whatever happens.

He looked at them a little longer, tried to quiet his own feelings by following their example, _follow follow follow_ , before he instinctually sought out OJ. Their band leader was looking at the ground in thought, one hand to his mouth, eyes tightly focused.

"Destiny, huh..." he said to himself, then he saw Lucky staring at him. He straightened up, looked past him at Shimmy and Magic and Baccio, to his side at Violet and Lucas, then back to him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then smiled at him, and it was one of the saddest smiles he had ever seen. "Yeah, let's ask destiny."

Looking at him was agony and yet he couldn't bring himself to look away, not until Violet spoke again and drew his eyes back to her. "How?"

"We have a way." OJ shrugged, a faint imitation of his normal confidence that made it all that much worse, but Lucas and Violet were none the wiser. They didn't know him like he did. "The same thing we've always done when we didn't know what to do."

"...Stone-sheet-clippers, huh?"

"Yup." Almost too casual, and OJ turned to look at Lucas and gesture at him a little theatrically. Like they were on stage, and maybe that made this a little easier for him. "This Lucas fellow'll play Stone-sheet-clippers with us." And he looked back to Lucky, holding up one hand as if to head off any potential argument. "If he beats all five of us in a row, you'll go. But if he loses even once..." And he held his hand out to him, his smile a little more natural now. "You'll stay in the DCMC and keep playing the bass. How's that sound?"

So that was OJ's plan. Lucky raised a hand to his mouth in thought. "Five in a row, huh..." The odds against that had to be pretty high. If Lucas could do it, then that would have to mean something, wouldn't it? If he could beat all of them, then something must want him to leave. That made sense, and more importantly, it took the decision off of his shoulders. Destiny could decide, and he'd obey, as he always did. "I'm cool with that."

He glanced at Lucas, who looked a little caught off-guard. He felt a twinge of conscience - he didn't want to make this any harder for the kid. He already looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "You, there. You're okay with that, right?" If Lucas wasn't, maybe they'd have to figure something else out...

Lucas blinked, perhaps not expecting Lucky to ask, then nodded. 

That was it then, the decision was made. Now it was up to fate.

He watched as Lucas went around the room, and each time, before his bandmate threw their hand, they gave Lucky a long, searching look as if considering something. Like they wanted to say something to him, but instead they kept their words for Lucas, kept playing at nonchalance and bravado as OJ did. Something about it made him feel uneasy.

He didn't think much of the first loss, or the second. That could be luck. By the third, he was starting to feel a little concerned. Three wins in a row... that wasn't five, but didn't that mean something anyway?

It was his turn now. Lucas edged up to him, almost hesitant to ask him to play, and he could feel the rest of his band's eyes on him. This throw could determine the entire course of his life from this point on. Everything depended on this moment, on his decision. His identity, his sense of self, the existence of either Duster or Lucky, all of it depended on what he decided to throw. His entire life in the palm of his hand.

He was a little nervous.

He held out his hand and Lucas held out his own, and again they mirrored each other, as both of them were trembling. Lucas was no doubt hoping he would win... what was Lucky hoping for?

He threw clippers and lost.

His heart sank and he reminded himself that this was out of his control. This was destiny, and destiny had decided he would lose, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he could do. Something about the thought felt familiar, muffled his emotions down to quiet, resigned acceptance that felt as natural as breathing. There was no point in questioning destiny, even though Lucas looked at him like he felt guilty that he'd won. Lucky was meant to lose.

That was still only four out of five.

OJ had insisted on being last, being their band leader and all. Now it was up to him. 

"If I win this, Lucky will stay in the DCMC," he said, holding one hand out to Lucas, that same forceful, theatrical tone in his voice he often had while speaking to the crowd. All a performance. "If you win, Lucky will go with you." A moment, and then he turned to look at Lucky. "Lucky..." And he kept his smile somehow, even though his eyes made it clear how difficult it was. Always the perfect showman. "You cool with that?"

He didn't want to leave them. He didn't want to leave him. But he knew, he'd always known, that someday he'd have to deal with the egg, with the remnants of his old life. That his reckoning was coming, that he'd be held accountable. He knew this couldn't last forever. Still, the look on OJ's face made him want to just call the whole thing off, just give up and go back to his band and forget about the entire thing. 

Lucas was looking at him, worried, nervous just as he was, unsure, and he looked small and afraid and fragile, and his heart went out to him, he just wanted to help him. He didn't want to hurt Lucas either. He didn't want to hurt anyone.

This wasn't his decision, he reminded himself. It was destiny's decision now, not his, and whatever happened next, it wasn't his choice, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Whoever got hurt, it wasn't his fault.

"I wanna trust in destiny," he said, after several false starts. "If it's my destiny to go, then I'm sure he'll win. And if it's not my destiny, then he'll lose and I'll stay here." He swallowed hard. "...It's as simple as that."

_I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't know what to do._

OJ stared into his eyes for a long moment, silent, like he was searching him for something and if he'd known what it was, Lucky would have given it to him in an instant. There was that feeling he got from the others again, like OJ wanted to say something to him but the words didn't come. Instead, his expression slowly changed, a dawning realization of some terrible thing. Like a great weight had come over him all at once, a heavy burden accepted with a resigned shake of his head and a smile, thin and false and unbearable.

"Okay then," OJ said, like a goodbye, and he turned back to Lucas. A sudden feeling of urgency came over Lucky, that he had to say something or do something or stop this now while he still had the chance, but it was already too late. OJ leaned over to Lucas, whispered something to him that Lucky couldn't make out, and took a step back.

"Tondagossa! Alright, here we go!" Loud and brighter now, covering up everything else, and he held up one hand.

"Stoooone, sheeeeeet, clippers!"

OJ threw sheet, and Lucas threw clippers.

For Lucky, it refused to sink in at first, but OJ didn't miss a beat. Nothing ever fazed him. He leaned back, casual and smiling, like this wasn't anything to worry about, while Lucas stared at him wide-eyed. He still spoke like there was an audience. "I see. So this is destiny."

Lucky took a stunned step towards them both, like being closer to them would somehow provide an explanation. This was destiny? This was what destiny decided? It felt like he was falling, a twisting knot in his stomach as his thoughts inched closer and closer to what this actually meant, what would happen to him now. OJ kept his eyes on Lucas as he shrugged with his arms wide, that same forced nonchalance in his tone.

"I guess Lucky probably is this Duster guy after all." And then OJ turned to face him, a quick, smooth movement like he was still on stage. He gestured at him loosely with one arm, _introducing our new bassist_ , and Lucky could see OJ's eyes shining while he smiled at him like nothing was wrong. How could someone who was trying to look so happy look so miserable? "Go! Don't worry about anything else at all!" 

As lightly as telling him to take a break, to scoot over in a booth, that he'd take care of writing down what they'd been working on, that he'd take care of it, he'd take care of everything. It didn't match, this wasn't anything like that, what just happened wasn't anything like that, and OJ had to know that but still, he kept up his act, he smiled at him like everything was okay while everything else said it definitely wasn't. "We'll be fine! We'll be fine."

If this was what was meant to happen, if this was destiny's plan for him, why did it feel like this? Shouldn't he have felt happy? Felt... anything other than this? Lucas didn't look any more pleased with the outcome than he did, and he wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. Thankfully Violet spoke up again, drawing his attention from OJ to her.

"So now that we know where the egg is, I don't have any reason to stick around here either." Her smile was genuine, and she cracked her knuckles. Of course she wouldn't have a problem with this outcome; this was what she'd wanted all along. "Alright! Time to get outta these girl clothes!" She stopped halfway to the door, turning and waving. "Thanks for everything, guys! Take care now!"

She tore out of the room before anyone could say anything in response, and in a way, Lucky envied how she just felt happy about this turn of events. That seemed simple, easy to understand compared to the shocked, hurting hollowness he felt now. This was destiny, fate, there was no fighting fate, and why wasn't that making this feeling stop? 

"Lucky..."

He shut his eyes when he heard his voice, his name, a shiver through his feelings like OJ had plucked a string on his bass. This was too hard, this was too hard, he didn't want to do this, face what he knew was coming, but he opened his eyes and forced himself to turn around. OJ stood closer to him now, still smiling in an effort to maintain his confident facade, that attitude that said this was all okay and meant to happen and no one should have a problem with it. His eyes told a different story, and one that Lucky was sure was reflected in his own. He didn't want him to leave.

The dramatic air was gone, the performance over. "No, Duster, I guess."

If they'd been alone, maybe OJ would have reached out to touch his cheek, maybe he would have embraced him, maybe he would have done any other number of things, but they weren't alone. Instead, he rested his hand on Lucky's shoulder and stared into his eyes.

There was so much now that they couldn't say. Instead, OJ swallowed and kept his wounded smile.

"You were the greatest bass player ever." And Lucky looked down, his face hot and his eyes hurting. The warmth in OJ's voice made it clear what he meant, and more than anything, he didn't want to go. He didn't want to lose him, lose this. Why couldn't he have won? Why was this happening to him?

Dimly, that specter of his old self arose with a feeling, that quiet acceptance that had been worn into him at some point. Things like this weren't meant for him. He should have known.

"I'm gonna miss you, man."

And for the first time, his heart broke.

He stared at the floor, blinking hard to keep his eyes from watering, and didn't look up until OJ spoke again. He was framed in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, a faint, sad smile as he was about to walk out of his life.

"I hope we meet again someday."

And he left. 

There was one small mercy of the entire ordeal, and that was that his loss decided to manifest itself as a stubborn, paralyzed refusal to process or accept what happened, rather than allowing it to wash over him and wring him out. He wasn't alone in the room after all, and the others didn't know. He stared at the door where OJ had disappeared and he wanted to go after him, somewhere, but mostly he felt numb. A loss too great to register.

He may have had the ghost of his past to thank for how, when faced with great emotional pain, he did not show it easily. For whatever reason, he kept it hidden.

His bandmates stared after OJ along with him, and a few awkward moments of silence passed before Magic turned to face him. His usual carefree grin, the casual hand on his hip, however forced, made him feel more at ease than any open expression of sympathy from him would have.

"I'm sure we will." And Magic said it with the same resoluteness that came with insisting he'd get the best chair, that Lucky was getting another drink, that Lucky was great at the bass and great in general. Like he knew for sure what he was saying would happen, and who could argue with him? How could he argue with that? Lucky tried to draw comfort from his tone, what he said, but still he couldn't look away from the door, still a yawning void opened within him. Perhaps Magic knew, sensed that there wasn't much he could say, or perhaps he didn't want to linger and make it harder for either of them. 

After all, Lucky'd been friends with all of them for a long time now.

Magic didn't say anything further, and as he followed their leader outside, he gave Lucky a thumbs-up with a smile that did a poor job of covering the pain in his eyes. Another loss, dimly registered, pushed too far for it to sting. Too much to take in at once; how could he bear losing them all?

Shimmy was next, and while he walked by Lucky, he reached out and touched his arm to get his attention. Lucky could see himself reflected in Shimmy's dark glasses; the ever-present stranger he always saw in mirrors, now with red eyes and a crushed, wounded, _alone_ expression that for once looked familiar to him, this he had seen on this face before. No wonder they looked at him with such sympathy.

"Don't go forgetting the time you spent with us now." A light admonishment, that same reassuring smile in an effort to lighten the mood. He'd always been so supportive, he'd always encouraged him, told him things would be fine, trusted in Lucky to do well and carry on, that he'd do the right thing. He'd believed in him to a fault, and he believed in him now, despite the sad edges to his smile. _It's okay. This is the right thing to do._ _Don't worry._ He could hear it, see it in him as Shimmy tilted his head, curled his fingers towards him, a weak attempt at a playful tone. "You dig?"

He could smooth anything over - there was never any need to worry about mistakes with Shimmy there. He could take anything and twist it, reshape it, make it beautiful, turn it into something else. He always knew what he was doing, and he had to know what he was doing now. He didn't say goodbye, just held Lucky's arm and gave it a gentle shake and squeeze, everything about him saying that this was okay. In his smile Lucky could see the pain of losing him, but still everything was okay. How could he believe that?

_Don't forget us._

Shimmy let him go, waved as he turned from him with a faint clatter of beads and headed after Magic and OJ.

Baccio was the last. They looked at each other, and with his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, it was hard to read him... though in a way, that might have made things a little easier. He was used to Baccio acting cool, always a bit reserved, his thoughts and feelings always something of a mystery. This was what he expected from him, something normal to hold onto while everything slipped out from under him. Open emotion from Baccio could have all too easily pushed him beneath the surface when he was already just treading water.

Baccio stared at him, thoughtful, his hand near his chin. He'd looked at him much the same way when they were trying to find out what kind of instrument would suit Lucky best, when they were debating which room Lucky would get, what cut of suit would best match Lucky's figure, what kind of life Lucky might have lived before all this happened. And usually, the conclusions that Baccio came to were ones that suited him best. Always made with Lucky's happiness in mind, and he'd grown to trust his judgment over time. If this wasn't what was supposed to happen, if Baccio really thought that he should stay instead, then...

They'd all accepted this decision, and still Lucky couldn't believe this was happening, that this was the last time he'd ever see them. The last day they'd spend together. The last words they might ever say.

"...Lucky," Baccio said, calm and final. A mature farewell, one meant to be as painless as possible. He did always think about what would be best, even if it didn't seem that way at first. What else was there to say? It wasn't as if Lucky had the skill or ability to put how he felt about all of them into words, much less any that'd do the time they'd spent together justice. 

With one last lingering glance, Baccio joined the others and Lucky was left alone.

He stared after them, unmoving, empty until he felt small, cold fingers entwine with his own. Lucas stood by him, hand in his, staring at him with that painfully compassionate look. It would have been easier if he didn't look so understanding.

Destiny had made its decision. He wasn't meant to be here any longer. Quiet acceptance, obedience. He could do this, couldn't he? It wasn't like he had a choice, and that thought kept echoing.

"I still don't remember anything, but I'll come with you guys anyway," Lucky said softly. After all, what else could he do? This was destiny. Things were meant to be this way. He had to accept it, because he couldn't change it, and he'd always been good at accepting things. He took a deep breath and tried to force some enthusiasm into his voice, maybe that would make it easier. "Okay! Let's go!"

Lucas gave him a thin smile in response and squeezed his hand. He didn't say it, but he could feel it from him anyway, somehow. _It's okay._

He got changed, got his belt (still it made him uneasy), and when they stepped outside his room, a strange woman appeared out of nowhere, grinning and thumping one fist into her hand.

"I took care of the bodyguards." And Lucky realized it was Violet, although she looked so different he could barely recognize her. The loose blue dress she was wearing masked most of the figure he'd gotten to know so well in her other uniform, and all of her make-up was gone. Her hair was now a choppy, uneven mess close to her head, like she'd hacked it all off with scissors. Why would she do something like that? Not that it was a bad look for her necessarily, but that seemed a little extreme. "Let's go!"

She took his hand without hesitation, still the same as ever, though he glanced back at the two unconscious bouncers. He always knew he'd been right to be cautious around her. 

As they headed out of the club, his home for three long years and the only home he'd ever known, Lucky tried to etch each wall, each chair, each room into his memory. He had no life before this place, he _started_ here, and he didn't want it to fall into the same blank void that made up the rest of his life. He couldn't do that after everything they'd done for him, after everything this place had been for him. He owed that to them at least.

He lingered for a few seconds as they passed OJ's closed door. Who would have thought their last time together would be their last time for real? That hollowness in him ached.

While they were walking through the main entrance to the door leading outside, he heard something from the theater behind him. A few piano notes, a stray guitar strum. He stopped, and the others stopped as well.

"What is it?" Violet said. Lucky limped to the theater door, rested his hand against it and looked through the window inside.

"...There's someone on the stage."

There was a hole on the left where he should have been standing with them. Maybe they saw him through the window, maybe somehow they just knew, but while he was watching, OJ began to play a few mournful notes on his saxophone.

It was a sweet, emotional ballad, not something that they typically played, and in the back of his mind, he automatically filled in a bassline as OJ's sax rose and fell. There was a microphone set up by Shimmy's keyboard and he was singing, not something that they typically did. Their instruments were usually enough, singing just got in the way, but this time there was something that had to be said. Something to be made clear in this final song and it was for him, it had to be for him. He knew it when he first heard OJ play.

_Bon voyage, amigo._ And Duster felt his fingers curl against the door, his eyes watering, and faintly he could hear the front door of the club open and close as Violet and Lucas left him alone. _Oh, guy in the sky, please grant a gift to our friend as he sets out on his journey._

He thought of when he'd first come here, to this same entrance hall so long ago, the bruise the bouncer had left on his chest and how they'd all taken him in without asking anything in return, how they grinned at him and said hey, maybe you're one of us.

Maybe you were one of us all along.

_How much time we wasted laughing together..._ OJ was focused entirely on his playing, his eyes closed as his sax wove through each measure. Shimmy's hands moved delicately over the keys, each chord a perfect compliment. When had they written this song? Did they know this day would come? It was like something had a hold on his heart and wouldn't let him go.

It was meant to be this way. Destiny.

_But, guy in the sky, oh..._ And the song picked up in intensity, Baccio beginning to play in earnest, Magic's guitar joining in, OJ's sax gaining strength. It swelled and he could feel it echoing within him, his emotions following the song's lead. It reached through the apathy, the numbness, his refusal to understand and pulled it out of him. _How we loved that wasted time and those helpless smiles..._

He thought of how they helped him find his sound, introduced him to the bass he loved so much, helped him practice, covered up his mistakes early on and reassured him that he'd be great, that everyone would love him. How they kept his spirits up, encouraged him, listened to him, supported him, cared for him, a total stranger.

_I never seen you laugh like that before._

_Bon voyage,_ and Magic leaned back, tearing his way through an intense guitar solo, his eyes shut tight in focus. He never could resist a good guitar solo. It gave OJ a second to breathe, and he looked towards the door of the theater, and Lucky thought of how he'd kissed him that first time, that frightening rush and how gently he'd lead him through it, how he hadn't judged him at all for how new it all was to him. He thought of how patient he was, how close he'd been to him, all the warmth and affection and acceptance in his eyes and in his arms that he wanted to drown in, how OJ told him he could stay if he wanted to, for as long as he wanted to.

And when the time came, they'd let him go, if they had to. When the time came.

_Bon voyage, amigo._

He hung his head, shut his eyes, let it sweep over him and through him, _I miss you, I miss you_ , and he felt something warm run down his cheek. He sniffed and rubbed away the tears with the back of one hand. He'd never felt comfortable crying. He shouldn't start now.

He took a few steps back as the song came to a close, the saxophone lingering while everyone else faded away, soft trills like it didn't want this to end.

"Tondagossa..." he whispered, his voice thick. He reached up and pulled off his wig.

Even if he never remembered his old life, at least he had Lucky's.

"Thanks, guys..."

He set the wig on the floor, wiped his eyes one more time, and turned to go without looking back. If he did, he wasn't sure he could go through with it. Just go forward. Just keep going forward.

The others were waiting outside, Violet leaning against the wall looking up at the sky, and Lucas staring across the valley with his dog by his side. They turned to look at him when the door opened, and there was that familiar sad sympathy.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Lucky tried to force himself to smile. "Let's go."

  
\---

  
They kept calling him Duster.

The four of them took the train back to Tazmily, since the sky was darkening when they left the club and they thought it might be better to get a fresh start in the morning. Violet- no, her name was Kumatora, that was right - talked to him as though leaving the club had fixed him. Like leaving his friends meant he wasn't Lucky anymore, but he was. They could call him Duster all they liked, but it didn't change anything, it didn't bring anything back. He was still Lucky; there was no Duster except for the strange man that starred in her unbelievable stories, gloomy and tired.

She tried to encourage Lucas to tell him some stories as well, since apparently Duster had known Lucas since he was born (Lucky remembered nothing), but he was a quiet boy who didn't talk much. Kumatora had to lead the conversation, encourage him to speak up, jostle him or ruffle his hair or make a joke to draw out a rare, weak smile from him. Most of the time though, Lucas looked desolate, often staring into the distance and lost in his thoughts. 

Something about the way Lucas acted made his heart hurt and he wasn't sure why. He was so young and already he looked like he'd seen far too much, endured more pain than he could imagine. It wasn't fair for a child to look so old, to have suffered like that; he wanted to make sure that Lucas never suffered again. If Lucas wanted him to help him find the egg, then that's what he'd do. He just wanted to make things easier for him.

And it could have been, from how Kumatora kept Lucas engaged, kept laughing and playing and joking with him, that she felt the same way. 

Tazmily was a quiet little village, smaller than he'd anticipated and not as far away as he would've thought. Little houses, paved streets, mailboxes, street lights, a well, one or two cars. There was nothing particularly unusual about it, despite being a place he'd never seen before. Nothing about it rung any bells. As usual, Kumatora asked him as they entered if any of it looked familiar, constantly fishing for the key to his amnesia. Lucky shook his head, apologized as usual but no, he didn't recognize any of this at all, then Lucas spoke up for once.

It wouldn't look familiar to Duster because three years ago when he disappeared, none of it looked anything like this.

How much could one place change in three years? The village didn't look that unusual compared to other places he'd seen. What could it have looked like, back then? The blank nothing of his life gave him no hints, nothing to draw on, nothing to create theories from except what he saw right now. It was just always _this_. He could hear in Lucas's voice though that the change had been a great loss, and Lucky decided not to press the subject. It was clear that he didn't want to talk about it.

It probably didn't matter anyway. Who could say if he'd ever get his memory back at all?

They'd intended to get some rest when they arrived, but instead after a bit of discussion they thought a little sightseeing might help jog Lucky's memory, though Lucas warned him not to look in any of the flickering pink boxes that were so ubiquitous here. They wandered around town, Lucas pointing out the few landmarks that hadn't changed to no avail, and they spoke with the inhabitants who were still awake. Sometimes Lucky's presence alone was enough, while other times Lucas introduced him to the villagers, like he should know who any of these people were. He'd never seen any of them before in his life.

They seemed to know him though.

The further they went along, the more it began to feel like a dream's slow transition into a nightmare. People looked at him suspiciously, frowned, turned away from him, pulled their bags closer when he walked by. The hostility in the air was palpable, made him feel nervous and unwelcome. They knew him but he didn't know them, and they knew he'd done something wrong.

He hated feeling like he'd done something wrong, especially when he didn't know what it was. It made him feel helpless.

Not all of them were angry at him, though. A few people smiled at him, called him Duster, then listened with confusion as Lucas or Kumatora explained that he'd lost his memory. Then they always looked at Lucky like they thought he was lying. But at least it wasn't like they hated him.

They walked by the beach at night, looked over the ocean, went to the bakery where Lucas chatted briefly with another young boy, although this one looked healthier and a lot happier. At least Lucas wasn't the only child here. As always, when asked, Lucky didn't remember who this Fuel was either, or the woman running the bakery, or her daughter, even though she said she used to give him food. He thanked her for it anyway.

They went to the inn, and the owner called Lucky a thief.

They decided to stay at Lucas's house instead. Lucky was a little relieved that it turned to be some distance away from the other houses in town, away from the ghost of his unknown misdeeds. He wasn't used to this, to feeling like this. When he was a member of the DCMC, he was almost universally adored by the crowds wherever he went. And if he did something wrong, if he made a mistake or hurt someone, he could remember doing it. He knew that he had done it.

Kumatora said that he was a good person, but if that was the case, why did they look at him like that?

"Pay no attention to those assholes," Kumatora told him. "What do they know, anyway?"

Lucas's house was simple, rustic, and singularly empty. There were signs that people had lived there once, but it felt like it had been a very long time ago. Four chairs were at the table, although three were covered with dust. The fireplace was cold, the stock of firewood depleted, a single lamp lit near the kitchen. A spinning wheel sat further inside the house, fragile with disuse and scattered with cobwebs, and the two large beds, two pillows at the head of each, looked cold.

Where was the rest of Lucas's family? He couldn't live here entirely alone... could he? When Lucas walked around, told them where the food was kept, poured dog food in a bowl for Boney, pointed out where things were, his touch was always light, hesitant. He moved like a stranger in his own house, like he didn't want to disturb anything. All of it a fragile remnant of the fact that other people had been here once. The empty air swallowed up his voice.

There were no flickering pink boxes in Lucas's house. 

One of the beds looked more suited for adults... and there were four pillows. He must have had parents... and maybe a sibling, but there was no sign of any of them. From the way Lucas acted, he didn't think he'd see them any time soon either. There was no mention of them, what they were like, what things in the house were theirs. The question of asking permission for Lucky and Kumatora to stay never even raised. 

Lucas was not expecting his parents, or anyone, to come home. What had happened to them?

Poor kid.

They spent the night awkwardly spread out across the two beds, Lucky trying to take up as little space as possible. He didn't feel like he belonged here - in Lucas's house, with Lucas, as Duster. They kept talking to him like he was this whole other person and he felt like an imposter. What was he doing here?

He wanted to go home.

The next morning, they took him to see his father. Wes, they said his name was. He was staying in an old folk's home in the eastern part of town. The morning hadn't brought back any of his memories, or any understanding to the villagers who still gave him dirty looks. They crossed a wooden bridge over a small river, down a dirt path surrounded by sickly looking grass as faint strains of a familiar theme came from the south. Something about this area, this side of town, made him feel heavy.

The old folk's home itself certainly didn't help. It was a rundown, broken place, rotted with water damage and practically falling apart. His father was _here_? Who could make _any_ one live in a place like this? Just looking at it made his stomach hurt, a strange sense of deja vu and loss he couldn't place. Sympathy for those inside, no doubt, but something about it felt deeper, more personal. The ghost of his old life wounded but he didn't know why. He'd never been here before. He didn't know this place.

He reached out and touched the walls when they went inside, his fingers against the grey paint and dark stains, the crumbling plaster. It felt warm under his hands, and he noticed Lucas and Kumatora staring at him.

Wes roughly fit Kumatora's description, though he wasn't surprised that she'd exaggerated in places. He wasn't _that_ short, after all, although he was still shorter than Lucky was. They found him sitting in a shabby room with a broken floor, reading a magazine and studiously ignoring the pink box in the corner. When Lucas spoke up, he'd turned and looked at them, and then at Lucky, with wide eyes. He blinked several times and stood, coming towards them, and Lucky felt tense for some reason.

There was no prickling feeling when he looked in Wes's eyes.

Wes looked between him and Lucas for a second, then closed his eyes and sighed. He crossed his arms, looked away, and spoke in short, rough sentences.

Wes was a stranger to him and, apparently, Lucky was a stranger to him in return. He asked briefly about his health, said he was "the same as ever", then he was apparently done. He turned his attention to Lucas and Kumatora and he thanked them with far more warmth and sincerity than anything he said to Lucky.

Kumatora indicated Lucky with a nod of her head, looked between Wes and him with a growing frown, apparently unsatisfied with how the conversation had gone, and Wes grumbled and turned away from them.

"Don't you still have something to do?" To Lucky, and he went back to his chair. Dismissed. "We can hang out afterwards."

He didn't remember anything.

This was his father? This was supposed to be his father? He found it hard to believe. Shouldn't he have been happier to see him? He'd been missing for three years, hadn't he? Shouldn't this have been a little more... emotional? Wes acted like he was eager for him to leave, and Lucky just felt awkward. Like they were distant acquaintances, and that couldn't be right. If Wes was his father, shouldn't he have... cared? He didn't feel like he did.

But it didn't hurt. He would have had to know Wes for it to hurt, believe that he was his father, and he didn't. No father would act like that, he was sure, and if they really had been related, then surely seeing him would have brought back some of his memory. Surely his _father_ would have made him remember something, and nothing. There was nothing. Why should he expect affection from a stranger? 

Lucas and Kumatora must have been wrong. 

Still, he felt a little bad about disappointing them yet again. They were both so sure that Wes would bring Duster back, but still Lucky remained. There was nothing left but finding the egg.

They made their way to the waterfall that Lucky had described, and a broken series of metal steps had been forced into the earthen wall beside the crashing water. They matched the ones that had been strapped to his belt when he'd first come to Club Titiboo.

"What are these?"

"They're wall staples, Duster." Kumatora sighed, rolling her eyes. "You must've put 'em there."

"Put them here...?" He knelt by the wall and ran his fingers over the metal rungs, over where they pierced the cliff side. They were in deep... it was a sturdy ladder, once. He ran his hands along the earth where they marked their way upwards and he could tell, some part of him could tell in one way or another, that this was the right place for these staples, just this place and no other. 

"Can you fix it?" Lucas asked.

He was going to say that he had no idea how to fix it, he'd never seen anything like this before, how could he fix it? He didn't even know what these things were, but then he realized that that wasn't true. Something in him rose up, the ghost of his old life's hands over his own. Yes, he knew how this worked. He knew how to use these. He knew how to do this. It was burned into his body, into some deep part of him that didn't rely on memory. He stepped back, taking in a deep breath while he closed his eyes. His thoughts cleared, and when he opened his eyes again, two of the staples were in his hands. They fit in his grip like they'd been designed for it.

His body moved on autopilot, completed ancient patterns. The metal bit deep into the wall and he made his way upwards in lurching steps, _shoonk shoonk,_ as each staple set in place and let him reach up to push in another. He wasn't aware of any time passing, just that he'd reached the top of the cliff, his remaining staples back in place on his belt. He stood at attention, his left leg aching, and he waited for... something. Someone, someone to... tell him something...

After a few seconds, he blinked and caught himself, and the pattern ended. What just happened? What was that? How had he done that? How did he know how to do that, and why?

Who was he?

Nothing gave him any answers. He leaned back onto his good leg, rubbed at his left thigh and ran over what he'd just done in his head. It had only just happened but it didn't feel real, that couldn't have been him doing that. When he tried to think of _how_ he'd done it, pin it down in words, it didn't come. It was locked away somewhere in him, someplace he couldn't access, the same refuge of the phantom of his old life. 

Lucas and Kumatora didn't seem disturbed by it at all as they came up the ladder after him. They clapped him on the back and thanked or congratulated him for doing it, like they'd known he could do it all along. It was normal for Duster, but it was not normal for Lucky. There was no reason he should know how to do that, that he should've been able to do anything like that. How had that happened? He felt like he'd just been possessed and no one seemed to think that was odd.

Whoever this Duster guy was, he hoped that would be the last time he'd make an appearance.

Then they ran into their first chimera.

He'd heard rumors about the creatures, but he'd spent most of his time safe within the club's walls. He was not expecting to see a huge, aggressive combination of a shark and a kangaroo, much less see it bounding right for them, its large sharp-toothed mouth wide open. 

Then Kumatora moved forward and punched it right in the face. 

It fell back, almost as surprised as Lucky was, but it wasn't down for long. It got back onto its feet, making a bizarre hissing, gurgling sound as it charged back towards them, and Kumatora wasn't fazed in the least. Both she and Lucas stood their ground, like they intended to fight the thing. What did they think they were doing?! Were they crazy?! People didn't fight chimeras like this! Much less with just a stick and their fists! This was absolutely insane, they needed to get away, they needed to run and get help before the thing killed them-

The Kangashark rushed for Lucas, letting out a strangled, tortured howl, and before Lucky could react, warn him, do something to protect him, Lucas pressed a hand to his forehead. A brilliant, multicolored flash of light and energy came from him and slammed into the creature, sending it flying several feet away. After a few seconds of startled kicking on its side, it scrambled back to its feet and ran for its life.

Both Kumatora and Lucas stood there like nothing unusual had happened while Lucky stared at them, open-mouthed.

"What was that?!"

Lucas blinked at him, and Kumatora tilted her head. Both puzzled by his question somehow, although as usual she spoke first.

"That's PSI, dude!" Like that should've been obvious. "C'mon, you've seen that before!"

No, he hadn't. What did that even mean? It sounded like... "...You're psychic?"

"Yeah. We both are." Kumatora leaned an elbow on Lucas's head, grinning. "What, didn't you know that?"

She had an amazing ability to answer a question in a way that explained absolutely nothing. Lucas and Kumatora were _psychic_? That couldn't be right, there was no such thing as psychic powers. That wasn't how the world worked, not as he understood it, and if he hadn't just seen Lucas's attack, he would have thought they were lying. People weren't psychic, people couldn't blast away creatures with waves of mental power. That wasn't something that actually happened, he knew that... but then what had Lucas done to that thing? 

He stared at them, dumbfounded, and Kumatora kept grinning.

"What, don't believe me? Check it out!" She held out her hand, and a fireball appeared above her fingertips. He backed away automatically and she laughed, twirled her hand so it danced and shivered above her fingers. Just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. "Man, I missed bein' able to do that."

How was this possible? How could this be real? He saw it but he couldn't believe it, but what else could it be? Lucas and Kumatora were psychic, they were _psychic,_ and that meant... that meant they could read his mind, couldn't it? Was that what that prickling feeling was whenever they looked into his eyes? Was that what it felt like to have someone read his mind? What had they seen in there? He felt a little dizzy.

Lucky barely had time to process one revelation before he'd get blindsided by another. Another Kangashark came bounding towards them, Lucas and Kumatora at the ready to fight again, somehow, and Lucky stood back, trying to think of what to do. If the thing couldn't see clearly, maybe it'd be easier for them to get away...

And before he knew it, he reached into one of the pouches on his belt, grabbed one of the smoke bombs, and threw it right in the monster's face. It exploded in a stinging cloud and the chimera reeled with a shaky wail, unable to reach its eyes with its short arms. Furious, it tried to turn towards him, but the smoke had left it blinded by tears and open to attack. After a few bites from Boney and a blast of ice from Kumatora, the Kangashark leapt away from them, still crying but alive, while Lucky stood there and stared at his hands.

He hadn't faltered for a second, he knew exactly where the smoke bombs were amid his things. He knew _exactly_ where they were and what they did, and a few seconds ago he'd had no idea what the things even _were_. How was he able to pull them out so fast, locate them without any hesitation? How did he know when he still couldn't remember anything else about his life? How could he know without knowing _why_?

"You okay there?" Kumatora asked him, slapping his back with a casual laugh.

"How did I know how to do that?"

"I told you, you're a thief!" She waved at the pouches on his belt. "I guess that's one thing you haven't forgotten, huh?"

What kind of thief had he been? How could Lucas and Kumatora be so blasé about something like this? He was Lucky, he was a bassist, he spent all of his time quietly practicing at the club and hanging out with his buddies, he never once threw a smoke bomb in anyone's face or spent any time thinking about his belt or the pouches or the layout of the strange things inside them, and yet it was in him, somewhere. That ability was a part of him, some strange force beneath his consciousness that made it possible. He'd felt like an imposter when Lucas and Kumatora had talked to him about his old life, and now he felt like an imposter in his own body. To himself.

How deep were these tools embedded in him, that using them felt like an _instinct_? That wasn't something that normal people just did. That wasn't something that just happened to someone, he had to have learned how to do this, he must have trained to learn how to do this, but when? How? By who? Stapling a wall was not the same as breathing, yet that pattern was just as firmly hammered into him. 

He was Lucky still, but Duster hovered closer and closer over him, yanking his body out of his control. 

They didn't have much time to rest, much time to think. When one chimera was disposed of, another came to take its place. Another Kangashark came barreling for them and Kumatora laid down a wall of flame to drive it away, but it burst through. It lunged at Lucas, its wide mouth open, and the boy froze.

In an instant, Lucky knew exactly what to do. Everything in his mind cleared as he darted forward, his weight carefully balanced on his good leg, momentum that swept him upwards and he kicked the creature in the side, sending it sprawling to the ground. And he didn't stop, he landed and kept moving, another strike as the monster got back on its feet, not enough to lay it low though it didn't slow him down. He ducked to one side to avoid a bite, pushed forward and hit it again, switched legs to keep up his speed and land another quick kick, a smooth, even rhythm like a heart beat until the Kangashark fell back onto its side, stunned.

Lucky stepped back to give himself some space, his hands up and ready as he bounced on his heels, perfectly balanced and prepared, before his thoughts returned and he stumbled and fell. Boney fortunately was able to finish it off while he tried to catch his breath and figure out what had just happened. Had he done that? Had he just done that? _How_?He'd never done anything like that before, he'd never studied anything like that, he was just a normal guy, a bass player, no one special. Everything he knew told him that, there was nothing else there. There was _nothing there_ to explain any of this but it _kept happening_. How? How could he string together a smooth flow of kicks despite the fact he had a permanent limp? How? How did that happen?

"You always knew how!" Kumatora said as she helped him to his feet, laughing and her eyes were light and sparkling. "You're a thief, remember? You should've seen some of the combos you did back when we were in Osohe castle, it was nuts! Guess you can't forget some things, huh?"

Who _was_ Duster? How did he know how to do all this? Shouldn't doing these things have made him remember more about himself? All they did was highlight just how vast and frightening the nothing of his old life really was. He'd thought back in Club Titiboo that the glimpses of his old self were disorienting, but it was nothing compared to this. These strange abilities, this _skill_ had no context, no reason, no explanation. Each time his body moved like he was possessed, something in him deeper than memories. Frightening depths that took him over without warning. Did he know anything at all about himself? Did he _want_ to know?

How easy would it be for Lucky to get lost in the unknown depths of his old life? How fragile was his identity that it could be so easily shoved aside in favor of these ancient routines, this foreign knowledge, that ghost of his old self? No matter how many combos he slipped into, a thoughtless blank haze that dictated his movements, it didn't explain anything. It didn't bring anything back, it didn't tell him anything about himself except that he knew nothing.

He'd spent three years creating this identity and it felt like it was slowly falling apart and he had nothing to replace it with. 

Lucas and Kumatora and Boney at least didn't falter. They had their quest to find the egg, a simple objective with a clear ending, and when he felt disoriented and unable to think straight, he could just clear his mind and follow them. He could figure this out later, when they found the egg, when he had some time to sit and figure out what was going on and what it meant without getting attacked by a turtle with machine guns grafted onto its shell. He wasn't sure what was more stressful - the battles or the changes the battles brought out in him.

How many surprises could one man take? He didn't think there could be any more after what he'd seen, but somehow Lucas and Kumatora always managed to find a way.

Below ground, one of the strange lion-headed creatures with all the mechanical arms blocked their path. This time, in the middle of his combo, the monster seized him with its tentacles and sank its teeth into his arm. Seconds later, a blazing inferno swept over it, forcing it to let Lucky go with a screech, but the damage had been done. He kneeled on the ground with his teeth clenched, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

He was blinded by pain, but he could feel Lucas and Kumatora by his side, so they or Boney must have finished the creature off. They held their hands over his mangled arm like they could do something about it, and he watched with bleary amazement as a faint green light began to shine from within their skin, then with a small amount of horror as his body knit itself back together before his eyes.

Their psychic powers could be used to heal as well as hurt, although neither ever seemed natural or real to him. Lucas sending a blast of color into a Reconstructed Lion's face, or softly emanating a green light as he pulled skin and tissue back together again - both of them weren't easy to get used to. The healing in particular was difficult since it was a lot more... personal. When they used that ability, he could _feel_ someone touching his mind, other thoughts against his own, their presencewithin him as they used their power. He wasn't psychic but he could still feel them there, a warm foreign sensation like they were pouring something into him.

It was different depending on who healed him as well. When it was Lucas, he was always left feeling a little melancholy, the faint traces of the boy's thoughts that he could catch deep and strong and quiet. He got the feeling there were depths to Lucas that he didn't want to explore, brief glimpses of an abyss when Lucas looked into his mind and he looked back, and he was often left feeling a little worried about him. He was just a kid, after all, but he had all this great power. What kind of burden was that for a child? Healing however never took Lucas very long, like it came to him naturally, and he could bring Lucky back from particularly grievous injuries like nothing had happened.

Kumatora on the other hand burned brightly, her thoughts as brash and bold as her actions. While Lucas coaxed his skin to heal, his power firm but gentle, Kumatora _forced_. Her power was strong and insistent, brokered no argument. His body was _going_ to heal, and that was that. She flooded his thoughts completely, overshadowed him, inhabited him, took control of him without question like she didn't expect any resistance, not that he would have had any idea how to resist her anyway. What else could he do but give in? Being healed by her left him shivering and spent, though not necessarily in a bad way. It was just always a little too intense, but he sort of expected that from her. 

After the first time, Lucky made sure to look somewhere else when they healed him. Watching his skin pull back together made him feel a little sick.

Tracking down the egg took time. Once they found it, a stray bolt of lightning ensured that their quest wouldn't end quickly. Following it took them to a factory, found them putting on disguises to fit in with the Pigmasks, sent them along long, meandering highways to find their final goal.

Finally, after what felt like far too long, it was in their grasp. Lucky reached into the fallen Clayman, and he felt the egg under his fingers. He pulled it out and held it close to him, smiling in spite of himself. He'd kept it safe after all.

It was over, he'd done it.

He felt a pulse of energy from the egg, warmth that spread through his hands, then his world went white.

He could remember _everything_.

  
\---

  
He was falling and he was pretty sure he was going to die.

  
\---

  
He was wet and surrounded by strange noises.

It took more effort than he ever could have imagined for him to open his eyes, and all he could see was blue. After a few seconds his eyes dialed back into focus, and he could make out small puffs of white. The sky. He was on his back, and he was wet but warm.

Something pink poked over the edge of his vision.

"You kay-o, zoom?"

He blinked several times and the sky stayed the same. Was he dead? Was this the afterlife? It was a little disappointing so far.

"Is waking!" From somewhere near him, followed by an odd chorus of those same strange sounds. Something nudged his shoulder, and pain crackled through his upper body. If he was dead, then he shouldn't feel that, right? 

He must be alive. But how?

"You get up now, ding?" Another nudge to his shoulder, and he groaned. Falling from that height should have broken every bone in his body, and it certainly felt like it had. It was hard to even _think_ about moving. Yet he was alive, somehow, against all odds. What had saved him? What on earth had he landed on?

Duster lifted an arm, barely, and the excited sounds grew louder. He could feel his muscles trembling, an undercurrent of pain that made it clear he was going to feel the aftereffects of this fall for a _long_ time. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever felt this weak. It wasn't hard though to muster up his father's voice in his head when the temptation to give up arose. _Don't just lie there, get up. Come on. Your arms still work, don't they? Get up!_

Wes had always been his best motivator, even when he wasn't there. Duster pressed a hand against the ground, leaned and tried to lever himself upwards, his palms and fingertips tingling and itching. Grass, he was lying on grass. With a grunt of effort, he lifted his head and felt that same pliant thing that had been pushing into his shoulder before move beneath it, supporting him. When he took in a few more breaths and got the energy to actually lift his upper body, he felt the soft thing push against his back, trying to help.

It took a while, too long Wes would have said, but he did it. He sat up, and it turned out he was at the edge of a hot spring, his legs still inside the water. He blinked, and his first thought was that that would explain why he was wet. The second thought was that that would explain how he'd survived... what better place to land than a hot spring?

"Is sitting up! Is sitting up!" From around him, and he turned his head. 

They were round, pink creatures with small, bright eyes, stubby feet, large noses, whiskers, and a ribbon tied to a single hair atop their heads. They surrounded him, blinking at him curiously, noses snuffling, nudging against him. Were they chimeras? He'd never seen anything like them before... 

If they wanted to hurt him though, wouldn't they have done it already? They certainly didn't look very threatening. Maybe they were like the little Whatevers in the Thunder Tower, mostly harmless...

"Is you kay-o?" And it was one of the creatures that was speaking, he was sure of it. "You fall long way into hot spring, boing. Is you broken?"

The other creatures murmured in apparent concern, their strange uneven voices rising and falling. They couldn't be chimeras; chimeras weren't intelligent, and these creatures could speak. 

"I don't know," he said after a bit of effort. It certainly felt like his body had been broken. If he hadn't landed in the hot spring, he was sure he'd be dead. As it was, it felt like his body had been knit back together by very thin, very new threads. The world around him felt disconnected, a faint sheen of unreality that made it hard for him to put his thoughts together. How long had he been out? "I'm a little sore..."

The creatures nodded, circling him. They had a funny little walk that made the ribbon on their heads bob back and forth, and they all sounded unfailingly cheery. "Yes yes, is sore, is falling long way! You want noodle? Can give noodle at you, fix body!"

What were they talking about? They might have been intelligent, but that didn't necessarily make them easy to understand. Still, it seemed like they genuinely wanted to help him... and what position was he in to refuse? Breathing still felt like it took effort at this point. What could it hurt to let them try?

"Okay..." And the creatures hopped up and down and chirped nonsense at each other, delighted. Duster found himself smiling in spite of himself. One of them nudged up against his side, pushing at him.

"Come come, can give! Can give! Come to house, can give at you!"

This was the hard part. After a few tries, it was clear that he wasn't going to be able to lift his legs out of the spring on their own power, so he leaned forward and looped one arm around his right knee. His entire body burned like at the end of an intense training session, all of his muscles protesting their work, but it wasn't like he had any other options. He was used to working through that kind of pain anyway. 

He rolled awkwardly onto his side when he pulled up his right leg, then used his arms to scoot backwards onto the grass to pull the other one out, after which he had to sit and catch his breath. His left leg wasn't working at all... this wasn't good, although he wasn't surprised that that'd be the first one to give out should something happen. 

"What wrong? Is problem?"

"My legs..." He winced and tried to lift his right knee up to his chest, and the entire limb flooded with pins and needles, an intense static that made him grimace and let it fall to one side. "It might take a while..."

"Legs are no good?" They sniffed him, pressed their large noses against his shins which made him a little uncomfortable. "Is broke, is broke long ago?" From one that was perched over his left leg, resting their nose against his knee. "Is no work?"

Did they know? How could they know, they hadn't seen him limp, and his pant leg hid the large scar that made its way along his left calf. It had to be a coincidence... although he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow... "Well, my left leg... it works, just not very good."

"Is old break, yes. Can tell. Come, have noodle!" And they were milling around him again, nudging him. "Can walk?"

He tried again to no avail. His left leg was completely dead. He frowned, and he felt a little bad about disappointing them despite how they'd only just met. "I don't know if I can walk just yet..."

"Is kay-o!" And the speaker bobbed up and down in what might have been a comforting gesture. "Can bring to you, ding."

Some of them broke off and left through a nearby cave while three remained by his side, staring at him. He felt a little awkward, and he shrugged at them apologetically, despite how it made his back tremble with pain.

"Sorry about this, I just... I fell a long way."

"Yes yes, did see fall. Did see," one of them said, nodding.

"Big splash! Boom!" With a bounce. "Came to see, we find you swimming. Had to pull out."

He could only imagine how startling that must have been for them. "Yeah, I... fell a long way." Should he explain what happened? Would they understand?

"Yes yes, long way. Lady tell us you fall."

He blinked, smile gone. "What? What lady?"

"We see lady, we all see lady," one said, and the one next to them nodded.

"Yes! We see lady when sleeping, she say, look for man from sky, look for big splash, boom! Man falling from sky soon soon, she say to us."

"Is red lady."

"Yes, red lady! Did see red lady. Red lady tell to fix falling man, so we fix."

"A red lady...?" Duster stared at them, brow furrowed, trying to think of who they could be talking about. What ladies in red did he know? It wasn't as though he'd spent much time in town, after all, who could...

Like a flash of light, it came to him. A scrap of dress on a tree, the first chimera, the beginning of the end. "Hinawa...?"

"Lady in red!" So easily delighted, and they spun around him. "She know you fall. She tell us."

How could she have known...?

"Did she tell you about anyone else?" Duster watched one of them as they wandered back and forth along the edge of the hot spring. "A boy, a woman, a dog...?"

"Only man fall." The creature stuck their nose into the water. "But lady say all things be kay-o, boing!"

Were the others okay? He'd tried to hold onto them while they were falling, but the wind tore their hands apart. He could still remember the panicked looks on their faces, Kumatora screaming at him not to let go, and he'd tried. He'd _tried_ , but still their fingers had slipped away. He'd refused to look away from them, to look at the ground as he'd plummeted - he wanted to see them, know where they were for what he was sure would be the last seconds of his life. 

The last thing he could remember was a faint scrap of blue in the sky to one side, and yellow and brown to the other, which told him nothing. If they hadn't fallen here, and he didn't see them, then they must have landed somewhere else on the islands, but where? Were they alright? It was such a long way to fall, and if he was in this bad shape...

Then again, he was _alive_. He was alive and he'd fallen in a hot spring, of all places... probably one of the safest places he could have landed. And the people that found him here, they'd been warned about his landing... like he was _meant_ to fall here.

If he was alright... did that mean Lucas, Kumatora, and Boney were alright as well?

"Me Mr. Saturn," said the one by his side, resting their nose on his thigh and looking up at him. "This place, all are Mr. Saturn."

"I'm Duster." He felt a little odd introducing himself somehow, but it felt like he should.

"Hi ho, Dustdust."

"Come bringing noodle!" From behind him, and the other Mr. Saturns had returned. One had a bowl balanced on their head. How had they gotten it up there? As far as he could tell, the little creatures had no arms. "Give noodle at you!"

He took the bowl from the Mr. Saturn, and just as they said, it was full of noodles. It looked like some of the ramen bowls he'd seen at the club. Where had they gotten this? Had they made it? How?

"Is good, ding ding!" They settled back around him again, leaning against his back and sides, sitting on his legs. They thankfully weren't very heavy, but in a way their weight was comforting. They felt solid while the rest of the world was still wobbling, and he didn't have to worry so much about keeping his balance. "Lifenoodle fix you aaaaaaall up!"

"Thank you." It did smell good, and he was a little hungry. He took a few bites while the Mr. Saturns boinged and dinged at each other for whatever reason, apparently entirely satisfied just sitting on or around him. They were certainly the strangest people he'd ever seen, but they were kind to him, and that was all that mattered. Who cared if they were a little odd? The soup warmed his entire body. "And thank you for helping me... I really appreciate it."

"Is groove! Mr. Saturn is helping, helping! La la la!"

"You are stay with us? Ding?"

"Stay with you...?" Between mouthfuls. 

"Can stay?"

"Stay with us until you body fixed?"

"Well..." He couldn't linger here long, he had to find the others and make sure they were alright, but he wasn't in much condition to travel, that was true. He was going to have to recuperate a little no matter what he decided. If the Mr. Saturns wanted him here and were more than willing to show him hospitality, why refuse them? "Alright, until I get on my feet. I have to find my friends."

"Yes yes, friends are good!"

"Is finding friends, but first is fixing what's broken."

When he finished the bowl of soup, he could move his legs again. With a lot of effort, and the help of the Mr. Saturns pushing from behind and clustering around his feet, he stood up, although he nearly toppled right back into the hot spring. His head swam and his vision darkened around the edges; a powerful throb at the base of his skull told him that walking around too much would not be a good idea right now. The Mr. Saturns were beside themselves to see him up though and eagerly ushered him along, chattering rapidly about the many things in their village they wanted to show him. He tried to say that he didn't really feel up for exploring right now, but not very hard. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and already he hated to disappoint them. They seemed so pleased just to have him around. He wasn't used to that, not as Duster. 

They led him into a little cave and could barely contain their excitement over what they were about to show him... which turned out to be a ladder. He was not quite as happy to see it as they were (this was not going to be pleasant to climb down at _all_ ), and he found their obvious delight somewhat puzzling considering that they still had no arms. Wouldn't that make it difficult to climb a ladder? It seemed rude to ask though. 

They nudged him forward, and he made his way down slowly, pausing to take a breath through his teeth each time he had to lean his weight on his left foot. He definitely needed to stay off it for a while at this rate. At least the Mr. Saturns weren't rushing him... he wasn't used to being allowed to take his time doing anything either.

He sighed in relief when he finally reached the bottom and leaned back onto his right leg. Much better, although the left still ached through and through. It was going to be a rough couple of days while he recovered, that much was clear. Duster looked up at the hole he'd come through, wondering if maybe he could watch the Mr. Saturns scale the ladder behind him, and one fell right on his face.

"Tumble!"

He caught them before they hit the ground, and the little creature kicked their legs and let out a long "Zoom!" of glee before he set them down. Then another bounced off the back of his head while he was bent over. 

Did they even use these ladders at all? Why were they so excited about them if they were just going to jump on him? He looked up and caught another Mr. Saturn as they hopped down into his arms, and he couldn't help a smile. Maybe they were just playing with him - they seemed so happy about it, after all. He wasn't sure they could even _be_ cruel.

"Dustdust play ladder game!" From one of the last ones to fall. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he shook his head and set them down.

"Maybe later?"

"Come come, come see!" And they were pushing against his legs again, and he let them lead him onwards out of the cave. It opened out into a small green valley dotted with odd round houses, each topped with a ribbon just like their owners. Far more Mr. Saturns clustered around him now than there were buildings... where did they all live? Maybe they shared the space inside together... he had so many questions about this place.

They took him inside one of the houses, which had its fair share of ladders set against the walls (some of which didn't seem to lead anywhere...?) and small trees sprouting from holes in the floor, and they pushed him over to a strange little couch. He sat down, and a few of them hopped up and joined him, while the others stayed on the floor and discussed things. Not a lot of it made sense to him... most of it seemed to be about barley, mantises, birdies, or dancing. It seemed to make them happy though, and really, that was enough for him. It was easy to get lost in their cheerful nonsense, though his dizziness might have played a part in that. 

The Mr. Saturns weren't always very easy to understand, at least when they were talking, but they kept by his side, asked him if he wanted anything, brought him a blanket when he said he was tired, and he could understand that easily enough. 

He really was very lucky, Duster thought as he stared up at the ceiling, the little creatures snoozing all around him, and the word panged a little.

He hadn't had many chances for reflection. He'd been swept up in crisis after crisis until they'd fallen from the sky and he'd landed here. He didn't have time to think, but he had time now.

The last three years seemed like a surreal fantasy, a particularly persistent and detailed dream. It was hard to believe that he ever could have thought he was anyone else. That he ever could have forgotten everything that had happened to him. That he could have created a whole new identity out of nothing, that he _really_ didn't remember who he was. All his memories of his time spent at the club, with them, were now indelibly colored by his past, by all the other years of his life. Once they'd been pristine, solitary, perfect captures of how he'd felt at that moment, of who he was, but it was different now. He remembered himself, he remembered everything, and that changed everything about that time.

It changed everything he thought he knew about what he'd done.

No wonder he'd felt so awkward when girls had flirted with him. No wonder he hadn't known how to play an instrument, no wonder looking at his tools had made him feel so strange. No wonder he'd been so uncomfortable being the center of attention.

No wonder OJ had had to teach him so much, and he squeezed his eyes shut. No wonder he'd been so hesitant, so ignorant, so afraid. His entire life he'd been conditioned to think that that wasn't for him, that he wasn't supposed to do anything like that. No wonder he'd felt so anxious at first.

Why hadn't Wes explained any of this to him? Told him that he might be interested in boys as well as girls, that they might be interested in him? All he'd told him was not to do it, not to even _think_ about it, for all the good that had done him. His father's single-minded focus had left him with enormous gaps in his life that he was only beginning to see.

And that wasn't the only one. It dawned on him slowly, pieces coming together through his tired mind, and he could feel his eyes stinging. No wonder he'd always felt so happy when OJ had his arms around him. No wonder he craved being held, being touched, being loved. 

He could count the times Wes had hugged him on one hand.

His father's approval was a smile, silence, a begrudging admission that he'd done alright. Sometimes he'd pat his head, sometimes he ruffled his hair, and on very rare occasions when Duster had fallen seriously ill when he was little, he'd carried him from his bed to the table, or to the hot spring, or to the doctor. But that was all. They were brief flashes, small lights in a very long and persistent darkness. And why should he expect more than that from him? He'd understood how things had to be, back then. He saw other children being held by their parents, exchanging cuddles and laughter and kisses, and he knew that that was a thing that happened and that it did not happen to him. He was different. He was always different.

It was worn into him, just like so many other wounds within and without. 

He'd spent most of his life learning hundreds upon hundreds of Wes's rules, spoken and unspoken, in an effort to avoid punishment, to try and add some level of predictability to his father's flashes of anger. And the rule, the shape of the scar was simple. Wes did not give hugs because he did not want to give them, because Duster did not need them. That was all. He'd learned it early and he'd accepted it early because he had no other choice. 

Then the DCMC found him, and everything changed. His entire understanding of the world had changed. 

What he had with them, with _him_ , was simpler back when he couldn't remember, when the nothing of his life couldn't highlight how much he'd been missing. That first kiss had been a surprise but now it was an event, a reminder of everything he didn't have until that moment. 

And with a greater understanding of what he had lost, the pain of leaving them was almost unbearable. After all those years he'd had it, he had something he'd wanted his entire life, he had it right in his hands and he let them go without even realizing it. He didn't know what he had when he was with them, but he knew now that it was too late. Maybe his father had been right. Maybe it wasn't meant for him after all. He always seemed to end up alone.

Were they alright? What were they up to now? Did they miss him? They must have, they were all friends... would he ever see them again?

That was the last thing he'd said to him... _I hope we meet again someday_. He hoped they were alright.

And what had happened to Lucas and the others? His chest tightened at the thought. Lucas was just a kid, was he alright? Were they alive? If destiny had stepped in and landed him here, told the Mr. Saturns to look for him, then this must have been meant to happen... if destiny had saved him, wouldn't it save the others too?

Hinawa... she must have been who the Mr. Saturns had seen. And if she'd looked out for Duster, then surely she must have looked out for Lucas too. And Kumatora... even if she didn't have any help, he was sure she'd land on her feet. It was hard to imagine anything stopping her. No doubt she was on her way to get him right now...

_If I have a dad, why didn't he come find me then?_

OJ and the others must have been worried about him, Lucas and Kumatora and Boney no doubt were worried about him... was Wes? Did he even care? 

Where was he those three years? He'd never let Duster out of his sight almost his entire life, and then suddenly he just abandoned him?

He turned on his side, his thoughts growing hazier as sleep came closer. The last time he'd seen Wes, he'd treated him so coldly... was that his fault? Would it have been different if he'd been himself? It wasn't like he'd wanted to get amnesia... but that never made a difference before. He never wanted to fail but he often did anyway, after all.

He could still remember _why_ he didn't think Wes was his father back then, and it hurt deep down. Surely a father would have been happy to see him, after he'd been missing for three years... surely he would have had more to say to him, would have been relieved, would have shown some warmth or affection or concern for him, instead of what he got. Surely any good father would have done more than that. Lucas and Kumatora must have been mistaken.

He had no idea.

What had Wes been doing without him while he was gone for those three years? And their house, what had happened to their house? What happened to all his things? The old folk's home stood where his house used to be... what happened? The reality of it refused to sink in, and his thoughts traveled in thin shaking trails upwards, trying to find something lighter, something easier to understand.

He wished Kumatora was here to heal him. Her power was so blinding and strong, it was always hard to think of anything else. She could just fill him entirely and block everything else out, and he'd be back to normal in no time, they'd be back on their way and he wouldn't have any time to think about any of this.

He wished OJ was here because he wanted a hug, and his throat tightened.

He hoped everyone was okay. That was all that mattered. That was the only thing he should be thinking about, and he pushed everything else from his mind. What mattered was getting better and finding Lucas and the others soon. Everything else was...

Not important.

He drifted off.

  
\---

  
The next morning, he took stock of his things.

The first was the egg, and he found it miraculously intact. Duster could only imagine the speed at which he'd hit the water, more than enough to break bones, and yet the egg's shell didn't have a single crack. It glowed in his hands, just as inscrutable as always. How had it survived?

What was this thing, anyway?

Whatever it was, it was his job to keep it safe, so that's what he'd do. He put it back into the pouch on his belt and checked his other tools. The siren beetle was still alive, somehow, though it buzzed at him angrily when he took it out. He'd lost a few of his wall staples, but most of them were still accounted for. The smoke bombs were a little damp, but should work alright once he set them out in the sun to dry. The pendulum was fine and the feather and mask were alright, if a bit squashed. 

Come to think of it, what had happened to Rope Snake? He'd fallen from the sky just like the rest of them... and while Duster usually found him curled up around his bombs, he wasn't there now. Was he alright?

The Mr. Saturns had woken up earlier (Duster did always have a tendency to sleep late) and gone about their business for the most part, although a few still lingered in the room. One was sitting on a little couch, swaying back and forth, while another was lying on their back on the floor, apparently staring at the ceiling. Both seemed completely satisfied by what they were doing. They really were so odd.

"Have either of you seen a snake?" Duster asked. The one on the floor kicked their feet.

"Snake? We see snake?"

"Did see, did see," the one on the couch said. "Red snake fall in spring, slip slip out. Go to cave."

"Can you take me there?"

The Mr. Saturn on the couch hopped off and toddled over to him. "Can do! Boing! Follow follow!"

Duster's legs still trembled a little when he stood, and his left was aching badly, but it was better than yesterday and that was what counted. It was hard to believe that he'd nearly fallen to his death only a day ago. How badly had he been hurt when he'd landed? How much had the hot spring healed?

He hoped destiny had kept the others safe as well.

He followed the Mr. Saturn outside, where the others of their kind were lolling about on the grass enjoying the sun, walking around, or talking with each other. Utterly unconcerned with the world outside their home or anything that was happening out there, content and safe... he felt a sudden pang of homesickness. What had happened to Tazmily while he was away? He'd seen the new and improved village with his own eyes but it was still hard to believe. Everything he knew was gone. Only yesterday it was the same as it ever was, and now it was... gone.

The world had moved on without him, and he knew logically that he'd lived those three years, that he was present but at the same time he... wasn't, not really. Lucky had watched it all happen but Lucky might as well have been an entirely different person. Lucky didn't _understand_ anything; nothing had changed to him because it was all new to begin with. He had nothing to be taken away, nothing to lose. It didn't mean anything to him but it meant something to Duster. It was a long-gone tragedy, one that everyone else seemed to have already processed and accepted, and for him it was at once both painfully new and years old. Awake but asleep at the same time. Did that still count as dreaming?

His head hurt.

The Mr. Saturn led him to the same cave that led upwards to the hot spring, and he saw a dejected looking ball of red near the entrance. Rope Snake was staring into the darkness, on occasion letting out a long hissing sigh, and Duster knelt down near him.

"Rope Snake?"

He perked, then turned his head to look at him with wide eyes, though his surprise faded quickly.

"Oh. Hi," Rope Snake said, his head drooping. "It's me."

"Are you alright?" Duster sat down properly. 

"I guess. I really let you down." His tongue slithered out and hung in the air. "I thought I was more snake than that."

True, they all had fallen, but it wasn't like he'd let go on _purpose_. And Duster was still alive, and by his logic, the others were probably alive too. They just needed to find each other, that was all. 

Rope Snake had been such a handy friend while he was traversing Osohe Castle - he'd given him advice and chatted with him and kept him company when he felt very tired and alone. Rope Snake had even handled the extra weight when Kumatora and Wes were crossing gaps along with Duster without a problem, how was he to know that three people and a dog would be his limit? 

It was hard for Duster to feel too unkindly towards him. After all, he knew how it felt to fail and disappoint someone. 

"You tried your best." Duster held out his hand towards him, an invitation for him to slither up his arm to his shoulders. Rope Snake had always liked doing that before; maybe it'd help cheer him up. "I think it'll be alright."

"I need to try harder." With a resolute flick of his tongue against Duster's palm, although he didn't move any closer to him. "I can't live knowing I have a weak little jaw like that."

"It wasn't that weak. You hung on for a while." Duster really wasn't used to comforting people, but sympathy made him try. "Come on, come with me. We can go look for the others."

Rope Snake sighed, maybe a little melodramatically, but in the end he pressed his head against Duster's palm and slowly wound his way around his wrist. Now they were getting somewhere. Duster stood up as Rope Snake made his way up his upper arm and eventually settled loosely around his shoulders, his head drooped down against Duster's chest. Still a little depressed it seemed, but at least they were together again. The weight of Rope Snake's coils around him was comfortingly familiar, even a little nostalgic.

He limped off to one of the little houses to find some breakfast, and something occurred to him.

"You were with me when I was at Club Titiboo, weren't you?"

"Yeah," Rope Snake said.

"Why didn't you tell me who I was?"

There was a pause, then Rope Snake flicked his tongue against his throat. Duster twitched involuntarily. "Would you believe me even if I had? You lost your memory! You wouldn't have even recognized me!"

"But you said you were there, so... where were you?" He didn't remember seeing him at all when he was Lucky. He couldn't have put Rope Snake in the drawer along with his other tools... could he?

"I slipped out after you put your belt down the first time." Though the way he said it had an undertone of _how dare you think of shutting me up in a drawer!_ and Duster felt a little bad. It's not like he _knew_ at the time he had a snake in his things. "But I decided to stick around and keep an eye on you anyway, just in case. But out of sight, so you wouldn't get too freaked out or anything." Again he flicked his tongue against his throat, and Duster flinched and couldn't help a tiny shudder. He forgot that Rope Snake had a tendency to do that, like he was making sure he was paying attention. "I mean, how do you think you'd've reacted if a talking snake popped up and said 'hey, you're really a thief named Duster'? You think you would've taken that well?"

After a few seconds, he shrugged, causing Rope Snake's tail to tighten around his upper arm. "I guess not."

"Exactly." With a bit more of his normal confidence, and he kept his head lifted now, watching where they were going. "So I just laid low in your room while you were off doing your thing. Ate some of the mice and bats in the attic, took naps in your clothes..."

Duster felt a little uncomfortable about that, but it wasn't like there was much he could do about it now. Rope Snake had been living in his room with him the whole time and he'd never noticed? You'd think that a talking red snake would stand out more. "Sorry for not taking care of you..."

"Come on!" He nudged Duster's chin with his head. "You think I need to be taken care of? I'm a full grown snake! I can take care of myself. It's you I'm worried about. You can't stay out of trouble at all."

"I don't get into that much trouble." He couldn't help a smile at the growing brightness in Rope Snake's tone. Maybe he wasn't as bad at this cheering up thing as he thought. 

Rope Snake let out a hissing laugh. "You're joking! You're a trouble magnet! You watch, trouble's going to come knocking on your door in no time, and you're going to need me to bail you out again."

"Well..."

It turned out that Rope Snake was right, although in this case, trouble at least waited until after he had breakfast.

He left one of the Mr. Saturn's houses, licking the last bits of the white croissant off his fingers before Rope Snake tried and take them off himself, and he noticed that something was wrong. It was much louder outside than it had been when he'd gone in, and the Mr. Saturns he'd seen loitering around were gone now. What was that sound...? It was familiar, but hard to place. A hiss of air escaping and a low, constant vibration... it had to be from something mechanical. A Mr. Saturn ran by and they did not sound happy at all, although he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. What was going on?

He peeked around the edge of the house where the Mr. Saturn had come from and came face to face with a Pigmask.

Rope Snake reared up and hissed and the Pigmask fell backwards with a frightened squeal. This one was blue... a Captain, wasn't it?

"What is it?" More blue Pigmasks came to help the one that had fallen back up on his feet, and then they saw Duster. They jumped, dropping their comrade in the process. "W-who are you?"

"It doesn't matter!" a green Pigmask said from behind them. "Get him!"

There were at least five of them in front of him now, and he still felt a bit wobbly on his feet. Wes had always told him that discretion was the better part of valor, particularly for a thief, and these were not the most even odds. He needed some time to think of a plan, and he needed it now.

"Hang on-" To Rope Snake, who was still hissing, and he dug through his belt and threw a smoke bomb to the ground... where it thudded and rolled a short distance away. That's right, he meant to let them dry out-

" _Get him_!"

No other option now. Duster turned and ran around the side of the house, trying to think. There were at least five of them, this wasn't a scouting party. They were here on a mission, and that probably meant there were more. He could see one of the flying ships they used in the sky - vastly outnumbered now for sure. Were they after him or after the village itself? 

"Duster, what are we going to do?!" Rope Snake tightened around his neck and his arm, and that really wasn't helping.

He saw a fallen Mr. Saturn as he ran, the little creature on their side kicking their feet, and he pivoted quickly and scooped them up as he passed by. They boinged in his hands, but he couldn't spare the time to look them over. He hoped they weren't hurt; had the Pigmasks hurt any of the Mr. Saturns? It was a terrible thought, who could ever hurt them? They were so harmless and they'd been so kind to him without asking a thing in return. 

"It's alright." To the Mr. Saturn under his arm, and Duster narrowed his eyes. He absolutely couldn't let anything happen to them, they'd saved his life. He owed them that at the least, and even just in principle, he couldn't let this happen. They were innocent; they didn't deserve something like this. He could hear them panicking as he ducked around another house, hoping to lose his pursuers. At least the members of the Pigmask army had never been very quick on their feet. Someday he'd have to thank Wes for ensuring he could run and run _fast_ , limp or no limp.

The Mr. Saturns needed his help. They didn't know what to do - they needed someone to guide them, give them a plan, keep them safe. He had to think of something, _think of something_! They were scattered throughout the village now, if he could just get everyone together...

He caught a glimpse of some Mr. Saturns running in frightened circles on the other side of town as he ducked behind a tree, and he called out to them. "This way! This way, over here!" They stopped all at once, bumping into each other, but apparently trusted him because they headed straight for him without a second of hesitation. 

Unfortunately, they weren't the only ones who could hear him.

"He's over there! Come on!"

"Bad things! Boing!" said the one under his arm. 

It was one thing to face the Pigmasks with Lucas and Kumatora and Boney by his side, and another to face them alone, particularly so soon after probably breaking most of the bones in his body. He still didn't feel entirely steady on his feet, and his left leg was hurting far more than usual, but he couldn't pay attention to anything like that now.

Push it down and ignore it so things can get done.He was used to doing that. 

They needed to find a place where they could regroup, someplace where they could hide and figure out some kind of plan, and more and more of the lost Mr. Saturns joined the ones following him, sensing a leader. Duster looked up at the cliff side - could they make it to the hot spring above?

"Dusteeeer...!" Rope Snake said, his voice strained and rising, and he tapped his cheek with his tail. Duster turned to look, and there had to be at least ten Pigmasks chasing him now. He knew there'd be more of them - this wasn't good at all. His current escape route dead-ended at the cliff side, but there was still the cave to the right that led to the hot spring... which he now saw was blocked by two more Pigmasks. Trapped.

Duster slowed and turned around - if he kept the cliff to his back, at least they wouldn't be able to sneak up on him. _Use whatever advantage you can find. The enemy won't give you second chances._ The Mr. Saturns clustered around his knees, frantic and he couldn't make out what any of them were saying. It was all a rapid, incoherent mess, but it wasn't hard to figure out how they felt. He could feel the ones close to him shaking. They had no idea what to do in a situation like this - they were peaceful creatures, through and through. Which left things up to him.

He had to protect them. He had to try.

"Stay behind me!" And the Mr. Saturns tumbled and fell about each other, but they listened to him. They trusted him to do this.

It was familiar, somewhere, as he set the Mr. Saturn he was holding down to join the others. There were twelve Pigmasks now surrounding him, and fighting all of them off would probably be impossible. But it didn't matter, he had to try. Even if he couldn't do it, he had to try.

Impossible tasks were not new to him.

"Is that one of the troublemakers the boss was talkin' about?" one of the Pigmasks said to another. 

"The ones behind Thunder Tower?"

"Didn't Mr. Fassad say something about a gloomy guy with a limp...?"

"That guy looks pretty gloomy... and I _did_ see him limping..."

"Hey! You!" A Pigmask in green, a Major he thought, pointed at Duster. "We're taking over this village! Surrender immediately!"

"Bad! Bad! Boing! No good!"

"No take! No take!" From behind him.

"Looks like we have no choice..." Duster whispered. "You ready?"

"Yeah, about that..." Rope Snake hissed back. "This really isn't my kind of thing, you know?"

"Rope Snake-!" But he could feel the coils slipping from his shoulders.

"Good luck though!" 

He glanced back long enough to see a flash of red scales getting lost in the tangled mess of panicking Mr. Saturns behind him, and he sighed. Well, he couldn't say he was entirely surprised.

"I told you, surrender!"

Be calm and think rationally. Wes always told him to be calm and think rationally in a crisis. Which Pigmask was the closest? Who'd be the most advantageous to attack? If he had his smoke bombs at least he could create some cover, but that wasn't an option. The amount of enemies meant it'd be hard to use many of his tools without getting interrupted. If he could find the right rhythm, it was possible that he could chain some attacks across multiple foes...

The ones near the cave leading up the hot spring, they were closest and they were blocking the only potential avenue of escape. If he was going to attack anyone, it should be them. They still outnumbered him, and that didn't get rid of the other Pigmasks who would probably intervene, but it was his only option. And once the decision had been made, the objective made clear, that was it. It didn't matter if he thought he would succeed or not, he had to do it. He had no choice. When in that mindset, he could do anything.

He had Wes to thank for that, in a way.

Duster took a deep breath, then darted for the two blue Pigmasks to his right. Already, he could tell he was wobbling, he wasn't as fast as he should be, it took longer than it should for him to get the staple in his hand, his form was terrible. He could hear his voice in his head. _No, wrong! Keep your arms in, lean your weight on your right! You're all off-balance, fix it!_

And he tried to listen. Focus. _Focus!_ The first Pigmask panicked when he came for him and didn't even think to dodge, letting out a high squeal of dismay when Duster kicked him in the chest. The other barely dodged the wall staple he threw, his hands over his head as he ducked with a flurry of oinks. _Sloppy. Again!_ The first Pigmask was still down at least, and his second staple struck the other in the leg, pinning them to the ground. Both neutralized, it wasn't his best performance but he'd done it-

Something scorched through his left side, and he stumbled with a grunt, his hands to the wound. What was that? Was he bleeding? His shirt was torn and his skin looked black. His rhythm broken, he turned and saw that while five of the Pigmasks had broken off to try and corral the Mr. Saturns, the other five were coming for him, and they had their guns drawn. 

The problem with attacking via a series of complicated kicks was that it required being close enough to hit the enemy. Shooting someone was much easier.

Moving the side that had been hit sent flares of disorienting pain through him, and the Pigmask he'd kicked down was getting back to his feet. He glanced over and the other was pulling his leg free from the staple. Neither neutralized for long.

It didn't matter if it was impossible. It didn't matter if he knew he'd fail. He had to try.

He took in a few rapid breaths, trying to plan his next move, and the Pigmask to his right drew his gun. _Think quickly. Trick the enemy. Create opportunities._ Duster stayed where he was, clearly watching him, as the Pigmask inched closer. He waited silently until the barrel of the gun nearly touched his temple. "O-okay, that's enough, just come quietly-"

Duster elbowed him in the stomach, then kneed him in the face as he doubled over. He staggered back and Duster grabbed one arm and whirled him around, ducked behind him with his forearm tight against his neck. This wasn't over just yet.

The Captain had dropped his gun when the first blow had landed, and Duster knelt down awkwardly to pick it up, the Pigmask oinking unhappily at how he had to bend to come with him. It felt completely alien in his hand. How did this thing work? A gun had been part of his Pigmask disguise before when they'd infiltrated Thunder Tower, but he'd never used it or even spent much time looking at it. He didn't have the slightest idea how to fire it.

But they didn't need to know that. Duster swallowed hard, fought back a rush of dizziness, and he pointed the gun at the other approaching Pigmasks. "Stay back!"

They slowed a little, maybe considering it though it was hard to tell with their faces covered, and Duster felt a tiny bit of relief. It had been a spur of the moment kind of plan, but maybe he could actually pull this off after all! He just needed to think on his feet, like Wes always told him to do-

He saw the Pigmask Major's hand move for his own gun, and he knew he had to stop him, show them he meant business, shoot him first but he didn't actually know how. He wasn't given much time to try and figure it out before a sudden spear of agony tore through him. He gasped and let go of his Pigmask hostage, fell to the ground clutching his left knee.

"See, the limp's on the left side! Aim for that!"

Everything in his mind blocked out in a frenzied scream, his vision filled with stars and he applied more and more pressure but it didn't stop. Nothing but this terrible pain, everything else faded in comparison but still, something worked through it. _Get up_ , he could hear his voice in his head. _Get up! Do you think the enemy's going to care that it hurts? Get up!_

He'd never been shot in the leg, in his bad leg before, the Pigmasks had always been too unfocused, too clumsy, too busy getting burnt or frozen or bitten or hit with sticks or blasted away with pure energy from his friends, his teammates, they'd usually come and use their power and make this stop and it wasn't stopping. His skin was black beneath his hands but he couldn't look for long. What kind of damage could a beam do, anyway? He had to get up, he had to get up, they were counting on him. 

Duster grimaced and squinted through the tears as he forced his right leg to straighten, forced himself to lean forward to try and pick up his gun. Keep trying. Keep trying until you can't move. If you give up, something much worse will happen to you.

Someone kicked him in the side and sent him sprawling, and the Pigmask he'd held hostage now stood over him, his breath harsh against the inside of his mask. "That'll teach you!" 

When his left leg hit the ground his stomach lurched and he felt like he was going to throw up, agony so powerful that it almost left him numb to all else, but he couldn't give up. No. That was not an option. He could hear the Mr. Saturns not so far away, calling out his name, asking if he was alright. He had to keep trying. His vision was blurring, he was breathing hard through his mouth but he pushed himself off the ground with his arms anyway. His left leg wasn't moving at all, completely dead now, but that didn't surprise him. If he could get up on his knees, then he could...

Someone kicked his arms out from under him and he thudded back to the ground again, the air knocked out of him. For a few panic-stricken seconds he couldn't move, his body struggling to regain its rhythm and get his breath back, and he felt someone step on his back. There, his lungs were working again, and he set his palms against the ground, pushed up in spite of how the foot pushed him down. _Don't give up._

A gun barrel pressed against his forehead, and he opened his eyes to see several pairs of boots around him.

"Stop struggling already! You, go get the rope!"

_Keep trying._ It didn't matter if he'd succeed, if success was even possible. _You keep trying._ Duster grimaced and shoved at the ground with a strained grunt of effort, managed to lift himself up for a few seconds before he felt someone step on the back of his left leg. Years of experience had given him a high threshold for pain, and it was a testament to everything Wes had put him through that he bit back a scream and instead made an anguished, strangled sound through clenched teeth.

"Dustdust!" Faintly through a red haze.

"Just settle down!" And the one on his leg applied a little pressure, and Duster kept it to a hiss now, although his vision was blacking out. "Given us enough trouble already..."

He wanted to keep struggling, he knew he _should_ keep struggling, but his body and his thoughts would not align. The threat of that boot pressing down any more was too effective for his body to ignore. He panted for breath, his leg throbbing along with his heartbeat, something stinging the back of his throat as they wrenched his arms behind his back. They weren't particularly gentle about it, but it was nothing compared to that foot still on the back of his leg, waiting. Making sure he wasn't going to try and break away from them.

Even though he wasn't here, he could feel Wes's disappointment in him. Was that really all he could do?

"C'mon, get up!" One of them booted him in the side, and he curled up and hissed through his teeth.

"Uh, I don't think he's going to be walking much..."

"Oh, right."

"What should we do with him?"

"Put him in one of the houses for now while we clear out the rest of this place. We can figure something out later."

Hands grabbed his shirt and pulled. His collar pressed tight against his throat and it was getting hard to breathe, and having his bad leg and his wounded side dragged along the ground was excruciating, but he refused to let them know. He wouldn't give them that at least. He couldn't stop trying to get his hands free even though he knew it was futile, and it felt like his shoulders were coming out of their sockets.

"Dustdust!" As they passed by where the crowd of Mr. Saturns were, and they were hopping up and down, trying to get a good look at him. "Is hurting? Is kay-o?"

"Quiet!" one of the Pigmasks guarding the group said, and the Mr. Saturns tumbled against each other, words dissolving into a mess of incoherent sounds though that might have been because Duster felt fairly close to passing out. "This village is ours now!"

Some part of him still said that he should fight, try and break free, get away, but his body refused. He knew how this felt; he'd been pushed to this point countless times over his life, Wes never satisfied that he'd tried his hardest until he collapsed. And even then, he'd tried to push him harder. _Don't you dare give up_ when it was already over.

They dragged him into one of the houses, pulled him to his feet, propped him up against something, and he could feel more coils of rope settling around his chest. They were tying him to something, _you going to let them do that? Come on! Move!_ He rolled his shoulders, tried to lean away, took a step and something hit him in the eye.

"Quiet!" The Pigmask who'd punched him rubbed his knuckles, then hissed and waved his hand. "Ow, that hurt..."

"Did you put your thumb outside your fingers?" another Pigmask standing nearby said. "You're supposed to do that!"

"I thought I did!" the wounded one said, still rubbing his hand. "Maybe I forgot though..."

"You can't forget! You'll break your thumb that way." The other Pigmask thumped his fist against his chest. Duster could feel his eye swelling up and the world was starting to spin. There was a persistent painful pulse in his forehead, in his side, down his leg, and it was only getting louder and louder. A growing sequence of ripples that kept expanding. He could feel his blood moving under his skin and his throat was closing. 

Hands shoved his shoulders back against whatever it was as the rope tightened around his chest. _You're pathetic, move! Move!_ and he wanted to obeybut all he could manage was a long groan. The Pigmask behind him straightened up, saluting to the others who returned the gesture.

"The prisoner's secured!" With a satisfied oink, and they looked around the room. "Er, what should we do now?"

"We should get the Major," the Pigmask near the side said. "He'll know what to do."

The three of them ran off, and Duster was left alone.

His eye was aching, forced closed, and the pain kept building. Hadn't he gotten a black eye as a child? He was sure he must have, but how? Disoriented, he followed the one trail his thoughts had stumbled on. He was training with Wes, wasn't he...? He must have been, how else could it have happened? His father had spun and elbowed him in the face, and he'd fallen back, and it had felt much like this. Familiar, though that didn't make it any easier to endure. Wes had told him to dodge faster.

What was he going to do? Duster took a deep breath and tried to move, pulled against his bonds to no avail. The Pigmasks might have been bad at some things, but they could tie a knot. His left leg still burned with a cold pain... he looked down and the skin around his knee was charred through the hole the beam had torn through his clothes. He turned his head away.

What he wouldn't give for his friends right now, if only to make everything stop hurting. He struggled to keep his thoughts together. He had to get out of here, he had to break free, he had to rescue the Mr. Saturns. They were counting on him and he'd let them down... and Rope Snake too, wherever he'd run off to. He really could have used his help right now, maybe he could have chewed through the ropes or something. His head pounded and his stomach lurched. It had been a while since he'd trained with Wes, three years at least, was that long enough for him to forget how to deal with pain? He'd felt worse than this before. _Come on, focus. Keep it together._

The Major from before entered the room, flanked by two of the Captains. Duster looked up blearily, wheezing through his mouth. One eye was swollen shut now, but he could still see through the other. Mostly. They bobbed and weaved.

"Okay, so, I talked to our boss, and he says that you know where the needle is," the Major said. "So tell us!"

Duster let out a few breaths, brow furrowing. "What?"

"The needle!" The Major raised an arm, pointing through the nearby wall. "Tell us where the needle is!"

"...What needle?"

"The _needle_!" Again, like this time it would explain something. "We know you know where it is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Duster said, and coughed.

"We _know_ you know where it is!" Had a habit of repeating himself. That brought back memories. Duster was feeling increasingly lightheaded. "The boss said you guys are the ones pulling them out! We know it's here, so tell us where!"

"Don't know what you're talking about..." It was getting hard to hold up his head. Why couldn't they have let him sit? His right leg was tingling like it was falling asleep, and he still couldn't move the left. He slumped against his bonds in hopes of relieving even a little of the pressure on his feet.

"Say, doesn't he look familiar?" He heard one Pigmask whisper.

"What?"

"Doesn't he look sort of familiar?"

He heard steps come towards him, and someone grabbed his chin and lifted his head back up. He squinted through one eye - a blue Pigmask. "Yeah, now that you mention it..."

"He sort of looks like Lucky, doesn't he?"

The Pigmask holding his head up exchanged glances with the other, then let his head fall. "N-no way! That can't be right..."

"There's no way that's Lucky!" the Major snapped, and the other two jumped and moved back to his side. "Why would Lucky be here? He doesn't even look like him!"

"...Well, his eye IS all swollen up..."

"That's 'cause YOU punched him!"

"He was acting up! I just wanted him to calm down so we could tie him up right."

"Yeah, and now we can't tell!"

"Both of you shut up!" the Major shouted, and the other Pigmasks backed up a step. "He's NOT Lucky! What would Lucky even be doing in a place like this anyway?" The Major turned back to Duster. "Listen, you tell us where it is, or things are going to get REAL bad for you!"

Lucky... it would have been nice to be Lucky right now. Safe in a club playing music, not having to worry about any of this, friends around to help him...

"H-hey! I'm talking to you!" the Major squealed, and one of the Captains rushed over and held up Duster's head, forcing him to look up at the head Pigmask. "Did you hear me? I said, things are going to get REAL bad for you if you don't tell me where the needle is!"

OJ said he was a lucky guy once... it seemed he was only lucky when he wasn't himself. When he was some other person. Duster was always unlucky. His thoughts were spiraling into increasingly incoherent loops. He coughed again, struggling to keep his one eye open.

"I dunno," he said. His words were slurring. "Dunno anythin' 'bout any needles..."

"We know you do!" The Major seemed more and more irritated by his ignorance, another familiar feeling. He stomped his foot, and Duster blinked slowly. "You WILL tell us where it is! Otherwise, we're going to get rough with you!"

The Major looked expectantly at the blue Pigmask remaining by his side. There was a pause before the Captain jumped in realization, then looked at Duster and thumped one fist into his palm. A clear threat.

Well, it wouldn't be the first beating he'd ever received.

  
\---

  
It was hard to tell how much time passed.

He drifted in and out of consciousness. He saw them bring in some of the Mr. Saturns, and of course they were more concerned for him than their own safety. This wasn't fair. He tried to apologize to them for not being better but it was difficult to speak clearly. There was something about stories, scary stories, but it blurred. It all blurred.

The Pigmasks asked him the same questions and he always had the same answer. They asked the Mr. Saturns, and they told them nothing. They must not have thought Rope Snake could talk because they pinned him up by his jaw, or at least, that's what he thought happened.

Awareness was a battle. Trapped in a dark and hungry void; the brief glimpses he got of other people, occasional awareness that some amount of time had passed, all gathered from moments when he could lift his head above water. The waking world was hazy and unpleasant, a thick buzzing pain altering his senses and clouding his thoughts, fuzzing his memory. The uncertainty and lost time when he was unconscious weren't much better. He hurt too much to sleep, but he couldn't stay awake. Lost in a twilight state that left him helpless to do anything, much less help anyone.

He did not beg or plead for mercy. He'd learned very long ago that that never worked. It was better to say nothing. Simply endure. He was good at that.

It was worse when he could hear the others suffering though. If it was happening to him it was alright, he could take it, he was used to it but the others, something like this shouldn't happen to them. It wasn't fair. They hadn't hurt anyone. It was enough for him to try and struggle when he was awake, draw their attention back to him to spare them. He wasn't used to fighting for himself, but he could fight for them.

Not that it made a difference either way. He was never awake for long. His father would have been ashamed of him.

It felt like he'd been here forever, that he'd been standing forever, that there'd never been a time when his thoughts didn't struggle to be heard over a constant mental keen of pain. A shattered glass, a paint spatter, a shaky hand and pencil; the borders of his memories and his sense of self were becoming more and more unstable. He didn't want to be here, he wanted to be someone else. He tried to draw on previous experience and he couldn't tell if it was real. His body had become his own siren beetle but he couldn't turn around, all he could do was suffer through its piercing call that never ended. A distracting, endless drone, his body begging him to sit down, to rest, to put something cold on his eye, to drink something, to lie down, and he couldn't do any of those things but it didn't care. It kept screaming at him to do the impossible and made it so he couldn't hear anything else, and he was becoming fuzzier and fuzzier at the edges. How long could he take this?

As long as he had to. He didn't have a choice, and normally he found that thought comforting, but the connections in his mind were so frayed that it never felt solid, could never be grasped. Distracted by the constant shrieking of _please please please sit down please please sit down your leg your leg please sit down please sit down i can't do this i can't do this_ but he couldn't, he _couldn't_. Sometimes the darkness was easier.

It was hard to tell when things were really happening, the difference between the real world and scraps of memory that came through the thick fog. Duster was stuck in that twilight place again, his head against his chest, his eyes closed, breathing through his mouth and trying to claw his way through the veil that made everything impossible to make out, made everything a dream. He heard voices, somewhere, perhaps, but it was hard to say for sure.

Then, all of a sudden, there was heat through his eye like someone had set a warm wet cloth over it, and it spread. He took in a shocked, shaky breath as it kept moving, the heat sliding along his neck, his shoulders, his sides, all the way down to his feet and back again. He could hear someone's voice. He could feel someone with him, inside him, and it stopped hurting.

Maybe this was what it was like to die.

"Duster! Duster, wake up!"

In perhaps the greatest act of mercy of all, the rope around his chest fell away and he didn't have to stand anymore. He collapsed, his head leaned back against the wall, his arms now free at his sides, too afraid to move in case that would make the pain come back, in case this was a dream. The warmth stayed with him, glowed from within, eased pain that felt like it had drilled its way into his bones, drew it all out of him and away. He tried to follow the feeling, that beautiful warmth with that slightly sad tinge that quieted all of the noise, that let his thoughts come back and be heard, and he opened his eyes, both of them, slowly.

Lucas sat on his lap, and Kumatora stood a little ways behind him. They were smiling at him, he could see tears in Lucas's eyes, and he felt Boney's tongue against the side of his face with a happy whine.

He stared at them, blinking, waiting for them to disappear, for the pain to come back. He must have been dead. This had to be the afterlife...

But Lucas pulled back a glowing green hand from his face, and it all came together. 

"Lucas, Kumatora, Boney..." He took a deep breath that didn't burn or catch. He could move his legs and arms, he could _think_ , and he smiled at them. It took its time sinking in, like he was savoring the realization that this was _real_ , they were real, that he wasn't dreaming anymore. It built in his chest like a song, and suddenly everything seemed so easy. His hands shook when he lifted them and his heart fluttered, and he was almost laughing. "You're alright!"

Lucas threw his arms around his neck with a quiet gasp of relief, and as Duster returned the embrace, he felt Kumatora punch his shoulder before joining in.

They were alive, they were alive! They were all alive and they'd saved him. The four of them had each fallen to their apparent deaths and yet now they were all here, they were together again and they had all survived the impossible. 

He'd trusted in destiny and it kept them alive. It brought them here.

It made him lucky.

  
\---

  
It turned out Lucas had to save the world. Duster told him that he wanted to help.

"We would've dragged you with us whether you wanted to go or not," Kumatora said with a cocky grin, and he smiled back at her.

They caught him up on what he'd missed (there was _so much_... how many times was this going to happen to him?), and in return he showed them around the village, told them a little about how he'd ended up here. It wasn't much compared to Lucas now being the sole obstacle standing in the way of the destruction of the world, but he had a feeling that Lucas didn't want to think about that anyway. Duster meeting a strange race of odd creatures was probably refreshingly simple compared to everything else that had happened. 

A time and place for everything. The Mr. Saturns were as friendly as always and in particular seemed to like Lucas, often following him and giving him things and bouncing happily whenever they got him to smile. Duster was glad that his friends had come here to find him in the end... it gave them a chance to meet the Mr. Saturns, and they were all better off for it, he thought. Even if it hadn't seemed like it before, particularly when he'd been captured by the Pigmasks, maybe it was good that things had turned out this way. Shimmy always told him to trust in destiny, after all.

He wasn't sure he entirely understood all the business about needles and dragons, but if that's what Lucas had to do, then Duster wanted to go with him. It was as simple as that.

He didn't want to be separated from them ever again.

When Lucas knelt down and began talking to a Mr. Saturn about one thing or another, Kumatora punched Duster's shoulder and grinned at him.

"Heh, how many times have I saved your ass now, huh?"

The sky was clear, the village was safe, his friends were with him, nothing hurt, and he smiled gently back at her. "Thanks."

She blinked several times, caught off-guard, and Duster looked to the sky and closed his eyes. The sun felt warm against his face.

"No one ever saved me before," he said. "It's nice."

He could hear Kumatora sputtering for a response for a few seconds before she punched him in the shoulder again, harder this time.

"You are so weird, dude. What kinda guy even says something like that? Jeez! You big... weirdo, c'mon Lucas, we gonna get going or what?" And she broke away from Duster before he could say anything.

He waited a few seconds before following her, and his smile didn't fade.


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing was ever easy, but the Mr. Saturns were as helpful as always. Duster showed the others to the hot spring.

"It probably won't take long for them to make the... birdie thing." He still had no idea what they were talking about, but he trusted the little creatures to have something good in mind. Or at least, something interesting. "We might as well take their advice."

"It _was_ a slog through that dumb volcano," Kumatora said, although something about her nonchalance seemed forced. When Phrygia had disappeared, there was a fragility in her eyes he'd never seen before, a loss that seemed far too personal. She and the Magypsy must have known each other somehow, or had met before, or... something. A look like that couldn't be anything else, he was sure of it.

He had no idea how to bring that up though. He was never good at finding the right times for conversation. Maybe he'd ask her about it later, when things calmed down a little. If Phrygia disappearing had hurt her somehow, he wanted to help.

They soaked in the hot water and Duster told them about how he'd found himself here at first, how he was sure that landing here was a sign. He almost mentioned the woman in red before he caught Lucas's eyes and decided against it. 

Besides, maybe they already knew. They were psychic, after all, and something about the slight nod from Kumatora when he mentioned destiny made him think that it didn't need to be said. 

Hinawa was still with them, in one way or another. If she was watching out for them, then surely things would be okay in the end.

Most of the Mr. Saturns seemed content to sit outside the spring and chat or birdie fish, although one had snuffled through Lucas's clothes when he'd gotten in and demanded to borrow that strange badge he got from his father. Much like Duster, it seemed like Lucas couldn't say no to the little creatures either. 

Every now and then, a Mr. Saturn would hop into the water, where they'd bob for a few seconds, then paddle around with their stubby feet. They seemed naturally buoyant, which somehow didn't surprise Duster. One Mr. Saturn floated by and bumped into Lucas, who apologized and steadied them. 

"Inside hot spring, but have coffee?" The Mr. Saturn twitched their whiskers.

Lucas looked to the others, and Kumatora shrugged. After a few seconds, Duster shrugged as well. Why not? Lucas turned back to the Mr. Saturn and nodded, and after Lucas let them go, they swam over to the edge of the spring, beckoning the others to follow. Three cups of coffee were lined up on the grass, like they knew they were going to say yes. The coffee pot beside them looked just like any other that Duster had seen in Tazmily... how did they pour it without arms or hands?

Well, it didn't matter. Sometimes mysteries were mysteries. They each took a cup and leaned back against the sides of the spring, taking quiet sips. It was strange, it didn't taste like any coffee Duster had ever had before...

  
\---

  
You have endured a great deal.

We cannot decide the circumstances we are born to. Some people are born surrounded by love and affection, while others are born alone. Like a flower in dry earth, they survive through whatever means they can.

Duster. This is what you have done.

You were deprived of many things while you were growing up. You were always held at a distance, and you believed that you were meant to be alone. You believed that wanting affection wanted too much and it was best to hope for little. You believed these things because they helped you to survive when you had little else to support you.

But you are learning now that the world is not as you thought. 

Slowly, you are realizing that it is possible to be loved by others. It is possible to be close to others without being afraid, to rely on others when you are weak, and you are learning that it is not bad to want these things.

In fact, these things will make you strong. 

You have stood on your own for so long. You were told that no one would support you if you fell, but your friends will support you. They will give you the strength to stand taller than you ever have before. They will give you the strength to fall and know you can get back up again.

Trust in them. Allow them to catch you.

You've come a long way, and it hasn't been easy. It may not seem that way, but learning to survive without your heart growing cold takes great strength. You are stronger than you think.

You have been alone for a long time, Duster, but you aren't alone anymore. Whatever happens in the future, they will be there for you. Together, you can accomplish anything. Let their love give you strength.

Let their love make you thrive.

  
\---

  
He could honestly say that he didn't expect to be plummeting to his death again in less than forty-eight hours, but here he was.

  
\---

  
Later that day, after they'd choked up all the seawater and tried in vain to tell Rope Snake that it was okay that he'd dropped them again (well, Duster had been the only one trying to comfort him... Kumatora said she wanted to tie him in a series of complicated knots), he and Kumatora were sitting on the beach watching the sunset. 

From what Phrygia had told them and what was written in their notebook (in the fanciest handwriting Duster had ever seen... it all ran together like water, and Kumatora had rolled her eyes and said that they _all_ wrote like that, and it didn't occur to him to ask her why she knew that), the closest needle was across the ocean on Tanehineri Island.

Understandably, he and Lucas were not exactly excited about going there. Rumors about "Spooky Island" as Jonel had called it had run rampant in Tazmily for years. It was supposedly a place where nightmares came to life, where reality became undone, and where bad children were sent when they didn't behave. Or maybe that was just the version of the story Duster heard, but either way, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of going there. It didn't help that when they'd dragged themselves out of the ocean, Kumatora swearing colorfully the entire time, the sun was already beginning to set. Who wanted to go to Spooky Island at night? Much less swim across an entire ocean to get there in the dark...

So they discussed what they should do, and they decided it could wait until tomorrow. After all, they had just crashed into the ocean pretty hard, and he could still taste salt when he coughed. None of them were exactly excited to go back in the water just yet, and it was clear that getting over there was going to take a while.

As for the talk about nightmares and visions, Kumatora was not convinced, but she did admit that she'd never been there herself.

Tomorrow, they'd figure something out but for today, they could relax a little. Lucas at first had sat down beside Duster, staring off into the distance as he often did with that lost look, until Boney dropped his stick in his lap. After a bit of coaxing from the dog and Duster alike, Lucas got up and tossed the stick down the beach, and Boney chased after it with some loud barks. 

When he brought it back, Lucas smiled a little and Boney wagged his tail, barked, dragged and goaded him along until the two of them were running and playing in the edge between water and sand. It was like Duster could actually see that heavy burden fall from his shoulders and for once, Lucas was just a normal young boy without a care in the world. He actually laughed, one of the only times Duster could remember him doing that, when he played tug-of-war with Boney over the stick, and he wished there was a way to preserve this moment forever.

Duster would have thought that Kumatora would get up to join Lucas, run around and tease and play with him as usual, but instead she stayed by his side, content to watch and occasionally call out encouragement. It was a little odd but maybe she was tired, he didn't know. He didn't mind her company, although he didn't really know how to say that. Maybe she knew already.

He just wanted to enjoy this while he had it. He'd seen "normal"while he was growing up in Tazmily, but he never had much chance to actually experience it. It was nice.

Kumatora's fingers brushed over his own in the sand, and before he could apologize and move away, she grabbed his hand. Just like her not to hesitate for a moment. Before he could ask her what she was doing, she pulled his hand up between them and turned it over so his palm was facing up.

"So where'd you get all these anyway?"

"Huh?"

"Back at the club, you asked me where you got all these scars." She raised an eyebrow at him, smirking as she traced over some of the lines across his skin with her fingers. "Well now you can remember, so where'd you get 'em?"

That's right, he _had_ asked her that. Duster looked away, his face warming a little. "It's not very interesting..."

"Oh come on, now I'm _really_ curious!" She tightened her grip on his hand. "There's no way you're gettin' outta this without tellin' me _some_ thing!"

Duster thought it over, looked at their hands, then let out a soft sigh. She was probably right. He shifted in the sand to face her a little more directly and she eagerly moved to match him, holding onto him now with both hands and a wide grin. How could she be so excited for something that was so mundane? He outlined a discolored patch that ran along the base of his fingers to the edges of his wrist, and for some reason he found himself smiling a little.

"Well... this here I got when a thunder bomb exploded in my hand once. I was holding it too tightly... my dad even warned me not to, but I'd never held one before." He could still remember how furious Wes was back then when he'd wrapped up his hand, almost panicked about the possibility of him losing his fingers. Duster moved to a series of white marks that went across both the tops and bottoms of his first three right fingers. "I got bit by a wild boar here while I was trying to hypnotize it... and here too. And here." He shrugged. "It took me a while to get it right."

Some of these were so old, it was hard to remember. He pointed at a long line running diagonally from his index finger to the edge of his palm. "I think this one came from when I slipped and fell against this really sharp rock by the waterfall... Dad told me to be careful, but I wasn't paying attention." Then a ragged round edge near his thumb. "This one was when I went to grab a wall staple but it was facing the wrong way... they're pretty sharp." He turned his hand over, and ran his finger over another long scar across the back. "This one too, Dad was showing me how to pin down an enemy and when I tried to get free, I cut up my hand pretty bad... tore up my shirt too, he didn't like that." With a faint laugh. The other half-moon scars he waved off. "A lot of these are from bites like I said... I think this one was from a mole... and a craglizard got me here. And this one was from one of those bitey snakes... I was learning how to use the tickle feather, and... well."

He noticed the edge of one around his middle finger, and he turned his hand back over again. "Oh yeah, and this one... I was cleaning a fish for dinner and I slipped. My dad always said I was pretty clumsy... that's where this one came from too." To a line on the pad of his thumb. "And... this one." He pointed to a small puncture wound near the base of his hand. "I got that one from a fish hook... he told me so many times to be careful but..." He shrugged again. "They're a lot sharper than you think... it really hurt when he pulled it out. He made me wait until we caught something before we went home to get a bandage so I'd learn to be more careful next time." A moment, and with a faint laugh he pointed at another similar puncture wound near his pinky. "But it happened again anyway... he was so angry."

Kumatora had been awfully quiet, come to think of it. He looked up, and she was staring down at his hands with her brow furrowed, her mouth a thin line. 

"Sorry... I told you it was boring." Duster rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "No wonder I couldn't remember any of it back then..."

She waited for a few seconds, then she lowered his hand, slowly entwining her fingers with his. He didn't have much chance to think about it before she pinned him with her gaze and spoke.

"Duster, do you want to go see your old man again?"

"Huh?" He blinked at her.

"You got your memory back now, and we're near Tazmily..." She kept eye contact with him, and she didn't let his fingers go. There was something familiar in her expression, how her eyebrows were drawn together, something like pity maybe around the edges. "We could go back and see Wes, if you want." And before Duster could say anything, she held up a hand. " _If_ you want to. Do you?"

Duster stared at her and she shrugged, forcibly lightening her tone a little. "'Cause you don't have to if you don't want to. I bet that old geezer's fine without you, it's not a big deal. But it's your choice."

Something about this felt familiar, and he looked down at their joined hands. See Wes again? Some part of him did want to see him and make sure he was alright... ask what had happened to their house, what had happened to Tazmily while he was gone...

And yet, another reminded him that getting lost and losing the egg, putting everyone in jeopardy for years while he loafed around with some rock band without a care in the world, screwing up the one thing he'd been trained for years to do... Wes was probably going to be _furious_ with him. He hadn't seemed angry before, but it was possible he was holding back until Duster could understand _why_ he was angry. And why wouldn't he be angry? Duster had screwed up everything, he'd even come back to him with amnesia like he was taunting him. 

He'd messed up many times before but never something this big. It was literally the entire purpose of his training and he'd messed it all up. Even if he still had the egg, he'd wasted three years and his house was gone and Tazmily had changed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was probably his fault somehow, and that Wes would definitely tell him how. He'd done nothing for those three years, he'd hidden behind a cloak of nothing, he'd remembered nothing when he'd seen him again, and he was going to pay for it. He was never too old to be punished. 

Wes was going to be so angry with him. Years of experience told him that. He knew it, he was sure of it. He wouldn't feel this nervous about the prospect if he didn't. Duster looked away from her back to Lucas, who was still chasing Boney around the waves, completely carefree. His shoulders felt tense all of a sudden, and he tightened his grip on her hand.

"Oh, well..." He struggled to keep his voice light. "It's okay, we don't have to go see him right now... I'm sure he's fine. We've got a lot of things to do..." There was something prickling at the nape of his neck, like a fly, and scratched back there but that didn't make it stop. "Don't want to drag you guys along just to see my dad, you know... it's alright."

She squeezed his hand. "That's cool, I was just checking." With a strange warmth to her voice, and then she forced it back to its normal light tone. "Might as well ask, right?"

"Yeah..." And he forced the images of his previous mistakes, the lectures, the yelling, the smashed things, the insults out of his head, and tried to focus on just this moment. Just Lucas being happy, Boney being happy, Kumatora near him holding his hand. Look forward. Keep looking forward. "Thanks."

That prickling feeling, didn't that mean she was reading his mind? He meant to ask, but then Kumatora moved back to his side and leaned her head against his shoulder, and all of his thoughts immediately came to a screeching halt.

"Don't worry about it." Somehow he could hear her over the thudding of his heartbeat. "Just try and relax a little, huh?"

"R... right..."

People were always asking him to do impossible things.

  
\---

  
In a way, he never left that island.

  
\---

  
"Don't go anywhere else. Come home with me."

  
\---

  
Inside the mailbox was absolutely nothing.

Nothing after nothing came pouring out.

  
\---

  
"I'm gonna hit you, boy. Your father's gonna give you a beating."

  
\---

  
He didn't think he'd ever sleep again.

He tossed and turned for hours, each time feeling guilty when he shifted for fear that he might disturb one of the others. They were struggling just as hard to sleep themselves, he was sure, and were having just as much success. Their breathing shifted and changed, caught every now and then in a way that didn't happen when they slept.

When they cried, yes, but not when they slept.

He didn't turn to look, he didn't ask, he didn't speak, he tried to stay quiet and draw into himself and disappear. Just... stop existing. Stop thinking. 

He couldn't stop thinking.

Duster wasn't sure if what he'd seen was just for him, or if everyone had seen the same thing, if they'd all seen Wes call out to him, if they all heard what he'd said to him. He knew they saw him fall to his knees in tears though, which was probably the only important part.

No doubt the others were lost in their own thoughts about what had happened, their own visions, their own nightmares. He'd seen the terror and fury on their faces, he could hear half the conversation, see foggy indistinct figures - halfway real hallucinations that he still wasn't entirely sure were really there or if empathy just made him think they were there, made him think he could hear them. The things his friends had seen threatened them, yelled at them, blamed them, told them terrible things that they didn't want to hear. They were aggressive, frightening figures, violence apparent even before they'd lunged at their throats _._

Of course, Duster had seen his share of those too, although his nightmares' aggression tended to manifest in other ways. He remembered perfectly how one of his visions had just stood there some distance away, arms crossed, and simply ordered him to _come here_. It just stood there and waited and they knew, they both knew, that he wouldn't have to come to Duster like some of the nightmares the others had seen. Duster would come to him. It didn't matter that he hadn't done anything wrong, it didn't matter how terrified he felt and how badly he wanted to run away, it didn't matter that he knew his father was going to hurt him, that he told him to come so he _could_ hurt him. When he used that tone of voice, he listened. No matter what. It was burned as deeply into him as how to use his wall staples, and the others didn't understand. They'd shouted at him, pulled his arms, tried to block his way, told him that he didn't have to, he _didn't have to_ do this, and they didn't understand.

They didn't understand.

But that wasn't what he was dwelling on. He found his thoughts returning, always returning, shifting past the Wes that repeated the same question louder and louder until he was shouting at him while Duster cowered, past the Wes who spoke with multiple voices at once in a hideous storm of echoes, past them to the first one that he had seen on the island. The Wes who held his arms out to him like he wanted to hold him, the Wes with a soft quality to his eyes, in his face, in his voice, who radiated compassion and regret and love for him. Who said he was sorry, who wanted him to come home. 

Duster could hear him saying it over and over in his head, and he never would have thought that something so gentle, so tender, could tear his heart out so viciously. When that Wes had vanished, he felt tears rolling down his face and the others asked him what was wrong and he couldn't tell them. He couldn't even begin to explain, but did they know? They were psychic, didn't they know?

The thought made him feel sick, his throat thick and tight, his eyes burning, as he curled up tighter and tighter into himself. His friends saw horrible nightmares, hideous distortions of reality that couldn't be true, living threats of violence and hatred and fear, and here was Duster, here was Duster on Spooky Island, the land of unrelenting nightmares and terror, here was Duster and he saw his father apologizing for crippling him. His father _loving_ him, that was the deepest scar on his heart, his weakest point. And he kept thinking about it, and he kept thinking about it, and he ran it over and over in his head, how vulnerable his father had looked, how honest, how sincere, how he'd beckoned for him to come to him without a threat behind it.

The others hated their visions, feared them, ran from them, and Duster was curled up in a miserable shivering ball in the dark hating himself because he wanted that Wes to be real. The other visions had abused him, yelled at him, hurt him and he was used to that, he was _used_ to that. But the first had cut him deeply, cut him completely open in a way he could never have anticipated and in a way he had no defense against, and it was because of love. Open, honest, repentant _love_ and it tore him to pieces far more effectively than the hallucinations that actually grew claws and ripped into him. It was worse because when he thought about how badly he wanted that to be real, it only emphasized over and over that it wasn't. His dad would never say something like that to him, his dad would never open his arms like that to him, his dad would never be sorry for what he'd done to him. It was impossible, a dream, a nightmare.

And normally he didn't think about that, he buried it deep down where he could ignore it, where he could tell himself it was fine, it was okay but now he couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't stop thinking about how surreal and dreamlike and unnatural it was to see Wes like that. He couldn't stop thinking about how impossible it would be for his father to apologize for hurting him. For his father to love him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and another tear slid by the bridge of his nose. It felt like it never stopped.

All their hallucinations had been cruel, and his worst had only been kind. He was so damaged that he saw a hallucination on the nightmare island _that was actually better than his reality_ , and it scared him. It scared him and it made him feel sick and horrible and small and _broken_ , he was broken inside, he'd told himself for years that he wasn't but he was broken and he didn't know how to tell them that. How could he even begin to explain something like that to them? He could barely weather the realization himself, what would they say? What would they think of him if they knew?

He wished that Wes could just... he wished that...

Endless loops and his head ached and he had to stop, he had to think about something else, find some way back. He couldn't keep doing this. The others...

He could feel Lucas against his back, and he knew Kumatora was beside him, and he reminded himself that, even when he'd been completely lost in his own delusions, he had known that they were real. Everything else on that terrible island had changed and altered, but they had not. Lucas and Kumatora and Boney stayed real, and didn't that mean something?

Maybe they had seen his nightmares while they were there, his problems and scars laid out right in front of their eyes; maybe they'd read his mind and found out that way; maybe they'd heard it in those broken sobs; he had no way of knowing but they did not leave him. They did not change and without them, he wouldn't have survived. They fought for him when he wanted to let Wes tear him to shreds, they dragged him when he refused to move, they shook and yelled at him when his mind stopped. They forced him to keep going when all he wanted to do was give up and when they were in danger, his mind cleared and he fought to protect them. As deep as his despair may have been, he did not abandon them either. They kept each other alive, they kept each other together.

They'd seen him at his worst, and they were still here. That meant something, didn't it? He knew it did, but he couldn't put it into words that made the sick spiraling feeling stop. There was no way to erase what he'd seen or what it meant.

He didn't know you could feel this terrible and not die, and in the midst of all the self-loathing, a thought occurred to him, sudden and bright.

He hadn't seen any of the DCMC on the island.

He hadn't seen OJ on the island.

Like a drowning man, Duster fixated on the thought. When he came to him so long ago and said he wanted to learn, when he took that first scary step down an unfamiliar path, when he'd trusted him not to hurt him, he'd wondered if he was making a mistake. He wondered if he'd get in trouble, he wondered if he was doing something wrong. And it had been embarrassing and frightening and at times all too intense and consuming but... he did not see him there.

And that meant it wasn't a mistake. What they'd done, what he'd learnt, the time they spent together, the feelings he had for him... hadn't hurt him. They did not wound him, and they did not twist out of shape to attack him. 

If he could do something like that right, despite every circumstance of his life working against him, how broken could he be?

The wound that Tanehineri had torn open in him might not ever heal, but that thought at least was enough to let him sleep. 

  
\---

  
When they made it to Ionia's house, they gave her the jar of pickles, and she gave them the Waters of Time. They had to hurry, she said, there were only two needles left. 

Kumatora asked if they could stay the night first.

While a little dubious at first, Ionia warmed up to the idea quickly. Although she seemed at peace with the quickly approaching end to her ancient life, just like Mixolydia and Phrygia, that didn't necessarily mean she wanted to rush it along. "That Time" may have been coming, but maybe it was coming tomorrow. Who could say? More so though, Ionia was delighted at the chance to spend some more time with her "dear little princess" before she had to go. Kumatora made a big show of finding the entire thing a nuisance even though she'd suggested it, although she wasn't fooling anyone.

Ionia didn't have an extra bed, but she did have an assortment of fluffy pillows and blankets in all sorts of shades; red, yellow, blue, orange, purple. Gifts from the others, she said, with a sad smile, and Duster felt terribly guilty.

They piled them onto the floor, Ionia fussing over arranging them by the right color and in the right places and chiding Duster at first for just tossing them wherever. He'd apologized, a bit sheepish, and while Ionia giggled behind one hand, telling him to stop being such a cutie-pie, Kumatora leaned over to him and whispered that she thought it looked better his way. Ionia poured them cups of a strange sour drink, he had no idea what it was, while they sat and talked about what had happened to them so far and what might happen to them in the future. Ionia was an avid listener and seemed interested in even his most boring stories, which made him feel a little awkward. People usually weren't interested in him.

Having lived so long, Ionia had stories of her own, and those were far more interesting. Duster really didn't know a lot about history; no one in the village had ever seemed to care that much about it for whatever reason. She volunteered to tell some of them if Kumatora let her brush her hair, and while Kumatora made a big show of refusing because who cared about girly crap like that, in the end she allowed her to do it. She had her arms crossed and the most petulant look on her face the entire time, but he got the feeling that secretly she didn't mind so much. 

Ionia told them a little about the dragon before Kumatora groaned and said they already knew about that, can't we hear about something else? Ionia smiled and waved a hand, oh yes, that's right, before she decided to talk about the Osohe dynasty instead. The castle, as it turned out, had been there for centuries. She'd actually watched it get built even, although it took many years. There weren't many other people on the islands to fight with, so the castle was really a symbol of prestige more than an actual defensive stronghold. Still, wasn't it pretty though? Ionia thought it was just darling, and was always just a teensy bit disappointed that Aeolia's needle was closer to it than hers.

Lucas asked if they had to build around her needle, and Ionia nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Of course the humans knew not to disturb the needles. Everyone knew that. Besides, it wasn't like they could do anything to the needles anyway, and she gave Lucas a long look. Only very special people could pull them or even interact with them. That was just how they worked!

Back in the day, people lived in villages not unlike Tazmily before all this had happened, and they'd lived peacefully with each other just like they did. Their houses were smaller, not as well built although they still had a cute rustic charm, and they worked harder, and they didn't seem to live as long. It was hard for Ionia to remember the specifics of that - her concept of time was so vastly different from theirs. But humans were humans, she said, and humans didn't really change very much. In a way, humans and Magypsies weren't so different after all, were they? And she giggled.

Time passed as they listened to her stories, resting comfortably amidst the colorful spectrum of pillows and blankets. The road ahead was full of dangers they could only imagine, if the road stretching behind them was any indication, and these rare moments where they could sit and relax before the next trauma struck were precious. Night fell, and during a lull in one of Ionia's stories, Lucas had tugged on Duster's sleeve and asked, very softly, if he could sit in his lap. Duster of course had no problem with it, and after Ionia and Kumatora had a spirited discussion about the best use of PK Thunder (Ionia didn't want her to overexert herself) and whether or not she could add some ribbons to her hair (Kumatora said no), Duster noticed that Lucas had dozed off. He wasn't entirely surprised - Lucas spent so much of the day healing them, protecting them, heightening their abilities, or sending enemies flying. No wonder he was exhausted. Duster could easily remember how tired he felt when he was his age, and all he'd had to do was his thief training. Constantly using psychic abilities was probably even harder.

Normally he wouldn't have given his training a second thought, but now after everything that had happened, he felt a twinge of something like guilt when it came to mind. Maybe his life had been a huge mess, maybe he'd been damaged terribly by his upbringing in ways he was only beginning to understand, but he still wanted to help Lucas, no matter what. He wanted to protect him, and that wasn't a broken thing to want to do. Was it? He wanted to think it wasn't. 

Maybe having a gentle heart could be a bad thing... it allowed them to get wounded more easily, him and Lucas alike. But it made him feel compassionate towards him, it made him want to help him, and that gave him purpose and it gave him strength, so it couldn't be all bad. Strength through gentleness... he could only imagine the look on his father's face if he tried to explain that. 

Everything that had happened to him had led him here. That was what mattered, wasn't it? He was here, with friends who cared for him, and he cared for them in return... the scars on his hands and his heart didn't change that. 

Well, it wouldn't do any good for Lucas to sleep sitting up either way. He shifted him a little so he could lower him down onto the blankets, and Lucas grabbed drowsily at his shoulders when he leaned away, mumbling something. He didn't want him to go, it seemed, and Duster knew how that felt. As a child he'd always slept downstairs alone. 

How could he refuse? Ionia and Kumatora were lost in their own conversation, they wouldn't notice, and it wasn't as if Duster wasn't tired himself. He lay down beside him, and Lucas curled up in his arms like he wanted to hide there. Whatever made him happy. Made him feel safe...

He closed his eyes. The floor might not have been the most comfortable place to sleep, even with all the blankets and pillows, but he'd slept in more uncomfortable places before. He was always... well, he used to be good at sleeping.

Duster drifted off to vague, indistinct dreams, a menacing presence lurking underneath it all, the fear of their grand mission failing ever-present, and he wasn't sure how much time had passed before someone shook his shoulder.

"Hey, hey! You up?"

It was Kumatora, and he blinked and rubbed at one of his eyes. The lights were out; everyone else seemed to be asleep. "Mmph... what?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"Now...?"

He couldn't quite make her out in the darkness, but it seemed like she was looking across the room. "We won't have time later."

"Mm..." Well, if she wanted to talk to him, it was probably important. Lucas was in a deep sleep, Boney on top of his legs, and Duster slowly untangled himself from his arms and got up. He still felt groggy, but Kumatora took his hand soon enough and led him outside.

"This couldn't wait until morning...?" Still rubbing at his eyes. 

"Tomorrow we got stuff to do. I dunno. I get this feelin' like it's our last chance." She pulled him over to the ladder that led to Ionia's house and sat down. After a few seconds, she stood up again and instead went to the rim of the crater surrounding the pink shell. "C'mon, come up here with me."

Duster yawned, but did as she asked. Climbing was a skill he'd acquired early and one that thankfully didn't require too much thought. When he turned to sit facing out towards the rest of the mountain valley, she cocked her head back towards the pink shell. 

"No no, look this way. You gotta see this."

"Mm..."

He sat down beside her. The moon above was half-full, and it cast enough light to give the pink shell house a pearlescent shine, somewhat ethereal. In the water surrounding the house, he could see the countless stars reflected from above.

"'S pretty," he said.

"Yeah," Kumatora said, and she let out a long sigh. "I used to love comin' up here all the time."

It took a few seconds for him to try and work through what that meant. "...Did you come here a lot as a kid?"

"...Yeah, you could say that." She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her arms. "...Duster, what happened to your mom?"

"Huh?"

"Your mom, what happened to her? It's just you and your dad, isn't it?"

He stared down at the shining water, at his hands. "...Yeah, it's just us."

"What happened to her?"

"...I don't remember."

She looked at him, and he kept looking at the water.

"I don't... remember anything about her. I don't know what she looked like or anything. She died when I was really little... too little to remember, I guess." After a moment. "It's sort of like I just... never had one. I don't know what it'd be like to have a mom."

"I see..." she said, quietly. "I guess you wouldn't get it then."

"Get what?"

"I dunno... you know, dumb stuff like... losin' someone you care about." With that same petulant tone, and she turned her head away from him.

"What do you mean?"

"...Well, you know... the king of Osohe, he wasn't around much. I actually spent most of my time with them." And she cocked her head at the pink shell. "With the Magypsies. Ionia's... Ionia's more like my mom than my real one."

He blinked for a few seconds, processing this, and he reached out and touched her shoulder. "So that means..."

"Tomorrow, she's just gonna be gone," Kumatora said. "I mean, I spent my whole life thinking they'd never die or nothin', they always said they'd live forever, they were immortal, you know? They were all immortal so they'd always just be there, and I knew they'd always be around somewhere, you know, if I needed 'em... but now it turns out they're not. They're all gonna die. Tomorrow Ionia's gonna die."

He really had no idea what to say to that.

"It's all stupid." Kumatora's voice was tight, and he could see her hands balled up into fists. "This is all so dumb. I dunno who started this needle pulling bullshit but I want to make 'em sorry he was ever born. For makin' us do this, for makin' Lucas have to do this, for... makin' this happen. I'm gonna find that guy and I'm gonna kick his ass."

"Yeah." 'Cause that for sure he knew was true.

"And it sucks 'cause... I don't want to tell Lucas about it 'cause it's already hard enough on him as it is, you know... I mean, his moms got eaten by a dinosaur or whatever, if I tell him he's killin' all my parents too he's gonna... that'd be bullshit, I'm not doin' that." Her words were slurring more and more together, shaking a little with anger. "But it's like, I don't want 'em to just go without... tellin' someone, you know? They're more than just needle guardians or whatever, they were my family. They were my real family."

He had no idea. He hadn't even had a chance to meet most of them... they'd already pulled three needles before they even found him. "...I'm sorry."

"Ah, shut up. I don't wanna hear that." She buried her face in her arms. "Stupid mushy stuff, I don't wanna hear it."

Well, he had no idea what else to say then, so he just kept his hand on her shoulder.

"Tomorrow's gonna suck," she said, eventually. "But I guess... you'll know why. Don't tell Lucas, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm gonna miss Ionia... I can't believe she'll actually be gone." She looked up again at the pink shell house. "I always thought she'd be there forever..."

"Yeah..." Still at a loss. He had to say something. "She's... nice." That probably wasn't it.

They sat in silence for a bit.

"Can I ask you something?" When she looked at him, he stared down at his fingers. "Since you know a lot about Magypsies... I don't want to be rude to them or anything..."

"What?"

"Are they..." He already felt awkward asking, and he could feel her staring at him. "They're women, right? Since you keep calling Ionia a she..."

A moment, then Kumatora gave him a thin smile. "Heh. Well... I guess it's kinda complicated. Lotta people don't get it. They're both... or neither, or one or the other depending on how they feel." She shrugged. "Most of the time Ionia feels like a chick, so she's a chick. Locria usually feels like a dude, so he's a dude. It depends."

That didn't really make sense to him, but it could have been one of those things that he just never learned when he was growing up. Maybe this was common knowledge for other people and he'd just missed out again. Best to take her word for it. "So, they can... change?"

"Well, they're not human, you know? They don't work like we do." A moment of thought. "They like to... balance stuff. I dunno, it always made sense to me. It's not like humans can't do the same thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." And she uncurled herself a bit, smiling now, and she punched him lightly in the arm. "Take you for instance! You're probably one of the most sensitive dudes I ever met! You're all shy and nice and sweet and gentle, it's ridiculous."

He wasn't sure if that was supposed to be an insult or not, but she didn't give him a chance to reply. She pointed to herself, thumping her chest with one fist.

"And me, I'm one of the toughest chicks around! I'm rough and tough and can punch monsters straight to the moon! I like fighting and getting dirty and I'm not really into all the feelings junk or whatever, and there aren't a lot of chicks out there like me." A moment where her eyes softened. "I know, I looked. But... I think that's why..."

She trailed off and looked away, and he tilted his head at her a little.

"Why what?"

"I think that's why I... why I like be- I like hangin' out with you so much, you know?" And she looked back at him with that warm smile that he loved so much. "We go together... we're both balanced."

Silence as they stared at each other, and it felt like something was drawing him to her. Inch by inch they closed the gap between them, pulled together as if by a magnetic force, nearer and nearer and he remembered with this feeling, you were supposed to close your eyes... wait, didn't that mean they were about to...?

At the last second, she looped one arm around his neck and pulled him down into her lap, giving him a noogie. "Ha ha, look at you! See, you even fall for that romantic crap!"

"Agh-! Hey!"

"Ha ha, nerd!" She ruffled his hair before letting him go, and while he tried to regain his balance, she stood up before he could think of anything to say. "But that's what I like about ya, after all! C'mon, we should get some sleep!"

She jumped off of the rim of the crater and headed back inside without waiting for him to join her. He stared after her, blinking for a few seconds before his thoughts realigned.

Were they about to...?

No doubt Magic and Baccio and Shimmy would have teased him for not being more assertive, OJ would have shook his head and said _Lucky, really, you need to know when to go for it, you can't always just wait,_ but he sat outside and stared at the shining shell and the stars on the water and the moon in the sky, and he couldn't stop smiling.

  
\---

  
They left Leder's small room - his cell probably would have been more accurate \- and headed back into the apartments. None of them said much of anything, the enormity of what he'd told them drowning out everything else. 

Duster found he felt cheated, somewhere. Leder said his early memories were all a lie and it felt like that meant he should have gotten the real ones back, but he hadn't. It was always just him and Wes in their little house on the east side of Tazmily. He was born there, he'd lived his whole life there, and that must have been a lie, all of it just part of a big story, but still the memories remained just as solid and unmoving as before. They were lies but they were real. How was he supposed to reconcile this? 

If life was fair, having lost his memory a second time should have given him more experience with dealing with something like this, but it didn't.

Lucas stumbled a little ways into the hallway, and Duster came over to his side, kneeled down and rested a hand on his shoulder. Lucas's face crumpled, and he buried his face in his neck and Duster wrapped his arms around him and picked him up. 

When he'd seen Lucas back at Club Titiboo, he'd thought that the boy carried too much on his shoulders. It paled in comparison to the burden he bore now. It would have been strange if Lucas _wasn't_ frightened, if he wasn't overwhelmed by the reality of his world, by the enormous task that faced them in the future, or rather... faced _him_ in the future. When it came down to it, they could help Lucas all they could, but pulling the needle was a task only he could do.

They could only carry him so far.

He didn't want to go back into the sewers until Lucas calmed down a little, so they lingered in the apartment building, taking their time heading back downstairs. Boney stayed close by his side, whimpering every now and then, and Lucas sniffled and kept his grip tight around his shoulders. It wasn't easy to walk while carrying a child, but he'd done much harder things. He didn't mind, and Lucas didn't seem to mind his uneven gait either.

It still had trouble sinking in. How much of his life was a lie? Was Wes even his real father? It had been decided so long ago that they were responsible for the egg, that they'd be set aside for that purpose... had he agreed to it back then? Had Wes agreed to it for them?

Even their relationship to the nonexistent royal family had been preordained... the princess's designated retainers, no wonder Wes had always been so fond of her, why he was so glad to see her again when they were reunited in Osohe castle and Duster had met her for the first time. The truth filled in some holes in his life but created so many others. He didn't even know where to begin sorting it all out.

Was that why he couldn't remember his mother? What really happened?

Kumatora hadn't said much, but after a while, she looked through a window they passed by that led to a brick wall, then she turned and looked at him.

"Hey, do you know what this means?" She was grinning, like this was all a joke and she expected a similar answer.

"That I've lost my memory twice?"

"No." Her eyes shone. "You were always meant to be my escort."

A moment where he stared at her, blinking, and her smile widened.

"It means we were meant to be together. "

  
\---

  
There were rumors about a concert floating around as they entered the Empire Pokey Building. He didn't want to get his hopes up - he still remembered how badly it stung when they'd finally come back to Club Titiboo after their trip to Tanehineri and found the place abandoned. This entire city was one badly thought-out fantasy, populated with strange, often incoherent people; how could he trust what anyone said here? 

Still, Leder had said that _every_ one was being gathered to New Pork, and with every passing minute the crowds only got larger and larger, the streets clogged with more and more bystanders. He'd never seen so many people in one place. If everyone was being gathered here... where else could they be _but_ here?

Duster told himself not to get distracted. The elevator technician told them that they could only go to the 27th floor, which incidentally was the same floor as the concert hall. He caught Lucas and Kumatora looking at him every now and then, eyebrows raised, but he tried to put it from his mind. More important things to think about. Don't get your hopes up.

Were they all alright...?

Trust in destiny, Shimmy had said. Duster stared at the walls around them as the elevator went up, watched the metal bars that must have designated the floors rise and vanish, let the rhythm of it ease away any other thoughts in his head until he noticed that Kumatora had turned around beside him. When he turned around himself, humming a question, he found the elevator attendant staring at him with stars in his eyes.

"Are... aren't you Lucky?"

It all went by in a blur, his mind perhaps not willing or able to fully comprehend what was happening, what was going to happen as he was ushered along by an excited fan, saw people clamoring in the entry hall for the show, saw the same huge, hulking Pigmask that had been a regular feature back in the day at the club.

Not until they went through the doors and entered the theater did it become real.

He was supervising the setup of the stage as always, and it was so familiar that it made Duster's heart jump into his throat. He had his back to them, completely unaware of their presence as he pointed at the lights to the left, told the techie to adjust them a little, tapped his foot and rested a hand on his hip in thought.

Duster would have thought that motion would be beyond him, since coherent thought certainly was, but somehow he was walking towards him. It took a few seconds, but he must have heard their footsteps - he turned around with a _you're not allowed to be in here_ look on his face and when the realization hit, he'd never seen OJ look so surprised in his entire life. He staggered back with a loud gasp, nearly falling, and Duster's eyes were stinging for some reason.

"Lucky...!" OJ breathed before he managed to regain his composure, and a wide smile broke out over his face. He was blinking a little fast, breathing a little hard as he closed the distance between them, and if Duster had never seen him so sad as when he'd left, he'd never seen him so happy as when he'd come back. OJ stopped just a few steps away although it was obvious that he wanted to come closer; he hadn't completely forgotten where he was just yet. Instead, he wavered on his feet for a second, struggled for his normal nonchalance but couldn't stop laughing through his words. "Long time no see, you bum!"

Duster wasn't sure he'd ever seen someone brought to the edge of tears from joy before, but it must have looked something like this. 

"Is that Lucky?!" What sounded like Magic's voice came from the stage behind them, and OJ looked back and laughed, moving a little out of the way. It was definitely Magic, and when he got a clearer look at Duster, he immediately dropped everything and ran for the edge of the stage. He jumped off, arms raised, landing on one foot at first in the picture of elegance until he kept going and crashed into one of the tables set up nearby. It didn't slow him at all - he scrambled to his feet and kept running straight for Duster like his life depended on it, and he barreled into him so hard that it nearly took his breath away. Magic crushed his arms to his sides as he swept him up in a bruising hug, spinning him around and around. "Lucky!! I've missed you so much!! Guys, Lucky's back! Lucky's back!"

He could hear OJ and Lucas and Kumatora laughing, and he knew he was himself but he couldn't hear it through all the excited noise. When Magic set him down he felt a little dizzy, he wasn't sure if it was from being spun around or from just feeling this happy, but Baccio and Shimmy were there beside him, steadying hands on his shoulders, voices bright and familiar.

"Long time no see, man!" Shimmy said, a huge smile through his words and with a grand gesture to the ceiling. "We had some pretty okay concerts since you left, but now that you're back it's gonna be like... wow!" And he shook Duster's shoulder, the slightest tremor through his hand.

"It's good to see you again, Lucky!" Baccio took his hand, curled his fingers and bumped fists with him in their usual group handshake, then couldn't contain himself and pulled Duster into a quick hug with a pat on the back before pulling away from him again. "How've you been?"

Duster never knew you could feel so happy that your heart felt like it was going to burst in your chest. It was all he could do to find words and not just stare at them with a stupid grin on his face. "I'm... I'm good, I'm good. How are you...?" What a ridiculous thing to say. There was no way to do this feeling justice.

"We're great as long as you're here!" Magic nearly shouted as he pumped his fist, and OJ was smiling at Duster in a way that made everything else in the world seem far away.

"We should've known you'd be here, Lucky!" Shimmy said as he brushed some stray dreadlocks from his face. His movements were quick, imprecise, as excited as his tone. "Every living thing on this island's been gathered here." And he paused, the reality of what he was saying sinking in. "Some great, undefiable power's preparing a festival for the end of all life..."

Right. That. For some reason, it was hard to remember or think about it at all at the moment. Baccio put a hand to his chin, a thoughtful pose so familiar that Duster felt his eyes stinging again.

"We can see through this Pokey guy's stupid plans no problem. He can't fool us." And Baccio smiled at Duster, that wonderful sure smile that said that everything was under control. "Why's that, you ask?" He tilted his head, his smile widening as he clenched one resolute fist. "'Cause we're so drunk on our music that he can't fool us with his nonsensical crap!"

"Yeah!" Magic shouted, and gave Baccio a spirited high five. He whirled back to face Duster, completely breathless. "I dunno who this Pokey guy is, but with all five DCMC members back together, nothing can scare us now!" And he paused for a second, blinking and it was like Duster could _see_ the thought strike him, and Magic looked at the ground, brow furrowed in thought. "Well, maybe if I think about it really hard, MAYBE I can think of something that can scare us-" And he shook his head, back to his excited laughter. "But no, nothing can scare us now!" Energy just overflowing from him, and again he swept Duster up in a bonecrushing hug. "Man, it is so good to SEE you, Lucky!"

"It's good to see you too," Duster managed through his laughter after Magic let him go, and he pressed a hand to his chest to try and calm his pounding heart. "I missed you guys..."

"You got to tell us _all_ about what you've been up to!" Shimmy said, his hands on Duster's shoulders, holding him out at arms-length like he was studying him. "You get your memory back? You find that egg you were lookin' for?"

"Hey, did you guys take good care of him?" Magic suddenly leaned over Duster's shoulder, pointing at Lucas and Kumatora. "He didn't cause you too much trouble, did he?"

Sudden pounding on the door behind them interrupted the conversation, excited shouts from the other side, and Baccio looked at his wrist.

"It might have to wait until after the concert... we don't got much time 'til we gotta blow this place out of the water."

A moment of silence as Baccio met eyes with OJ, who nodded, and then their band leader, his leader, looked back to Duster. His eyes, his smile were so warm, and he held a hand out to him.

"Hey, Lucky." Like there was no one else in the world but him, and he wanted to drown in that feeling. Each word given weight and time, his voice steady and irresistible. "Let's forget our worries and just enjoy the music like the old days, huh?"

With everything ahead that faced him, with his lost friends found and smiling and happy around him, there was nothing in the world that he wanted to do more. Maybe OJ could see it in his face, and he smirked at him in that old knowing way. "We even have your afro wig all ready to go."

They kept it, after all this time? He found his hand raising to press against his chest again, and OJ kept smiling at him, eyebrows raised, and he could see the others also waiting for his answer, eager to get started, to rewind it all to how it used to be. It took real effort for him to look away, to remind himself that he had a greater responsibility to think of. This was really Lucas's decision - after all they had something important they were doing... if Lucas wanted them to keep going instead of waiting for Duster to finish a concert with his friends, then...

"What do you guys think...?" Duster turned around to face them, and he felt a little breathless still, his heart loud beneath his fingers.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting from the three of them, but Lucas was standing with his hands behind his back, smiling at him nostalgically, and Boney panted by his side with his usual happy grin. Kumatora had one hand in her pocket, and she waved the other like she was shooing Duster away.

"Go ahead, have fun," Kumatora said, with a fond smile, and Lucas nodded.

"Yes! Tondagossa!" Barely given any time to think about it before Magic grabbed his arm and began dragging him towards the stage. "C'mon, you gotta get ready!"

"We got your bass all shined up and ready to go!" Baccio said from his other side, and they'd swept him up and it was hard to think about anything else, their enthusiasm infectious. He couldn't believe he was about to play a show with them again - it felt like it had been ages since his last one. Could he still do it? It hadn't been that long, had it? He wasn't going to have time to practice-

They pulled him backstage, and Baccio and OJ broke off from the group, saying they had a few other things out front to take care of ("Have to fix that table you broke," Baccio gave Magic a look, who shrugged and feigned ignorance), and it was all happening so quickly that he didn't have a chance to say he'd see them later. Magic didn't slow for a second, dragging him along until they stopped by a closed door.

"Here, you can get changed in here!" Magic waved at the door with an all too elaborate flourish before he nearly jumped in excitement. "Man, this is gonna be AWESOME!"

He darted off, his task completed or just too wound up to stand still for long, and Duster stared after him with a smile. Magic had always been a bit excitable, but he'd never seen him like this before. It was strange to think it was because of him, because they cared about him, and his heart always swelled in his chest at the thought.

"Hey, real quick?" Shimmy tugged at his arm, and Duster blinked and shook himself out of his reverie.

"Hm- Yeah?"

That same somewhat sober mood had come over Shimmy now, his smile faded and his voice low, not quite a whisper. "If you get the chance, you should talk to OJ, alright?"

Duster tilted his head slightly, eyebrow raised, and glanced back at the stage, although he couldn't see OJ from where he was. Somehow the gesture of looking where he _might_ have been seemed important. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nah, just..." He frowned and looked around for a second, beads clacking as he scratched his head. Back to Duster with a shrug, like it wasn't a big deal, but he still had that oddly serious tone in his voice. "I get the feeling he wants to talk to you, you dig? He was pretty broken up when you left." And Shimmy let him go, moving away a little like he wanted the conversation to end quickly. "Better do it while you got the chance, if you get me."

Something about this made him feel a little ill-at-ease, suddenly on unfamiliar ground when he should have been quite confident, and maybe Shimmy felt the same way as he kept moving away from him, barely waiting for a response. It wasn't like Shimmy was telling him to do something he didn't intend on doing anyway, but still, he felt weirdly caught off-guard. This was supposed to be simple, old times, nothing complicated; Duster shoved it from his mind and shrugged instead, trying to keep his tone as light as he felt like it should be. "Yeah, alright."

"Great!" Shimmy smiled in apparent relief. "See you in a few!" And he was off.

Duster stood there for a few seconds, wondering what he should do now, before he remembered the door Magic had pointed out. That's right, he was supposed to get changed; he couldn't go out on stage in his normal clothes. He wasn't about to make a spectacle of himself during their reunion concert, after all.

The changing room was small - a rack of clothes against the wall, a mirror with a counter beneath it, a few boxes here and there with various sleeves poking out of them. His wig was sitting on the counter, and he could see a familiar pink suit hanging amidst the other clothing. He pulled it from the rack, draped it across his arms, and he was smiling again and he couldn't help himself. This was _his_ suit... they'd kept his suit. They'd kept all of it. Even though they might not have ever met again, they'd hung onto it. Did they know this would happen, or did they just hope this day would come? OJ had certainly looked shocked when he'd seen him; he couldn't have predicted this... could he? Was it his idea to keep his things, even if they thought he'd never come back? 

Why was Shimmy so interested in him and OJ talking? Maybe OJ had something important to tell him...

It still fit him perfectly. Duster straightened his lapels in the mirror, adjusted his tie, brushed off his sleeves. It was strange to see himself in smart, clean clothes again. His normal outfit may have been practical, but it wasn't exactly fashionable. 

On a whim, he straightened his left leg and tried to keep his shoulders even as he stared at himself in the mirror. He didn't look completely bad, he thought, sort of dignified. He couldn't hold the pose for long though, his left leg starting to ache, so he let it go and leaned to one side again. There, that was more typical for him.

He sat down so he could put on his wig, and once the entire ensemble was together, Lucky stared at him from behind the mirror. He reached out and touched his reflection beneath his eyes... he didn't remember the circles being this deep before. Did he always look this tired? He felt older, somehow. Well, he had been through a lot.

"Hey, you ready to go?" And Duster jumped, whirling towards the door and if he hadn't been sitting down, he might have kicked a hole in the wall behind him. It was only OJ of course, leaning against the door frame of the room with his hands in his pockets, laughing a little. "Heh, you still get that look."

"OJ..." And Duster sighed in relief, a hand to his chest. He hated it when things snuck up on him; it always took ages for his heart to calm down. "You surprised me..."

"Well, that's never been that hard to do," OJ said with a casual shrug and a smile, and he shut the door behind him as he came into the room properly. "You doing alright, Lucky?" As he came over to where Duster was sitting. He leaned back beside him against the counter beneath the mirror, and for a moment his confident aura faltered as something occurred to him. "Oh, right... it's Duster, isn't it?"

It didn't sound right coming from him. "...You can still call me Lucky if you want." He looked up at him with a smile, and OJ blinked, eyebrows raised.

"Like that name, huh?" Smooth as always, and he pointed at him. "I knew it suited you. You're a lucky guy."

"Yeah..." Quietly, and they stared at each other for a few seconds. OJ might have had a bit of a shadow beneath his eyes, might have looked just a little older, but he was still just the same as ever. He still smiled so easily, he still radiated confidence and poise in a way that made everything feel okay. Like nothing had changed, like no time had passed since he'd left the club so long ago. 

It was hard to believe that he was in a race against time to find the needle before the end of the world. It was hard to believe this might be the last time he'd ever see him, the last moments they'd ever spend together. Duster looked down at the counter, and OJ began talking, easily filling the silence.

"I was thinking, we should open with the DCMC Theme, you remember?" And he grinned at Duster, giving him a thumbs up. "Really, we should call it Lucky's Theme, that was all you, baby. Then I thought we could go right into Samba de Combo - if we've finally got our bassist back after all this time, we should let you shine, you know? Then-"

"Thank you."

OJ paused, unaccustomed to being interrupted, and rested his hand on the counter beside Duster's. When side by side, he couldn't help but compare them - OJ's skin was still smooth and unbroken compared to his own.

They came from such different worlds.

"Thanks for what?"

"Thank you for everything," Duster said softly.

OJ tilted his head, waiting, and Duster let out a long sigh.

"I really didn't know anything when you found me... you were right." Slow and quiet, his eyes nearly closed. He wished he had more time to plan what he was going to say... this had all happened so suddenly and this was important. Still, it was difficult to say, some deep part of him still so resistant to admitting ignorance. He'd been told for so much of his life that he was an idiot... it still hurt, no matter how many times he heard it or thought it. A familiar sting every time it proved to be true. "I'd never done anything like that before... I wasn't allowed to." He saw, out of the corner of his eye, OJ's hand twitch, but he didn't say anything. "That's why... you had to teach me so much. And I wanted to thank you."

Silence for a few seconds, and Duster looked up to meet his eyes.

"I'm very lucky."

OJ blinked at him a few times, then looked away with a slightly uneven smile and a quiet laugh. It was the first time he'd ever seen him look awkward. He had an air of forced nonchalance that was familiar. "Ah, you know..." A few seconds for him to get his thoughts back in order, and he gave him a sidelong glance. "It was my pleasure." He waited for Duster to redden slightly before he looked down, his smile fading.

"Besides..." The playful air was gone, something more sincere, maybe a little melancholy taking its place. "There aren't a lot of guys out there like you and me." 

His fingers brushed against Duster's, and it wasn't too hard to catch his meaning. Not a lot of guys who were into guys, and come to think of it, Duster couldn't recall seeing... any, except the man beside him now. How lonely must that have been? "Couldn't just leave you high and dry, could I?"

Duster wasn't sure what to say to that, so instead, he crept his fingers forward and curled them around OJ's, and for a few seconds they stayed that way, in silence.

"You know, Shimmy was right about the festival..." OJ said eventually. "You know much about this Pokey guy?"

The interloper, Leder had called him. "Yeah... a little."

"So, you know what he's up to then. Right?"

"...Yeah." With a bit of a sigh. "He's trying to destroy the world."

A moment, and OJ shrugged. "Yup, that's what we thought. So... what are you going to do?"

Duster blinked, not the question he'd expected, and raised his head. OJ looked at him sidelong with a faint, halfhearted smile.

"It's the party at the end of the world..." And while his smile got wider, his eyes only got sadder somehow. "Want to spend it rockin' out with us?"

_With me_ , was that what he meant? His first temptation was to say yes, but he knew it was impossible the minute it crossed his mind. Everything depended on him... depended on him helping Lucas. He couldn't, he wouldn't abandon his responsibilities, as much as he might have wanted to stay with him...

Something about this felt familiar, and that look in OJ's eyes... he'd seen it before. When was it...? Duster looked down, and it was a little difficult to speak. "...I can't."

They both had to know that that would be his answer, surely OJ must have expected that response, but the upbeat tone in his reply sounded a little forced. "Why not? Where else you gotta be?"

Where to even start? He wasn't good at this talking thing, why couldn't OJ just... _know_ what he'd been through, what they had to do? How could he explain this? 

"Do you know _how_ Pokey's planning to destroy the world?"

OJ blinked, eyebrows raised. "Do _you_?"

"Yeah." A moment and he looked to one side, trying to organize his thoughts. When he ran over the story in his head, it sounded just as ridiculous as Violet's had so long ago. No wonder she'd always been so frustrated by his skepticism. When did reality get so... unreal? "...You'll believe me, right?"

"I don't think I've ever seen you lie about anything." With a more genuine smile, and he squeezed his hand. "Hit me."

"Well..." The more he thought about it, the sillier it sounded. When he'd heard it from the Magypsies, from Leder, from Lucas, he'd never thought to question it but now that he had to repeat it himself... it was hard to believe that what he was saying was true. Someone else should be saying this, someone with real authority. Maybe if he just got it out as quickly as possible... "There's a big dragon under the islands... and there are seven needles stuck in the ground keeping it asleep. Pokey's been pulling them out to try and wake it up so it can destroy everything... or, well, not Pokey, he can't, actually... only certain people can." Already he was messing this up, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn't even look at OJ to gauge his reaction, he felt so awkward. "So, he has someone pulling them out for him. But, Lucas can pull them out too. Actually, Lucas is the only one- one of the only ones who can. And we've pulled three and he's pulled three, and it all depends on Lucas pulling the last one before he does or else everyone's going to die."

There was a pause, and he felt his face itching and he wished he was better at this. This was important but he wasn't telling it right at all.

"Okay," OJ said, carefully neutral. "So...?"

Encouraging him to go on? Duster winced slightly to himself at the thought of continuing, but dug up the words somehow regardless. "So... we're trying to get to the hundredth floor so we can..." And the danger of their ultimate goal suddenly seemed more apparent than ever, and he hesitated. "So we can stop Pokey."

"How?"

He didn't really know _exactly_ , but he had a feeling about what it'd come down to. "We'll fight him, if we have to."

"You're going to fight Pokey?" And he spoke a little faster, a bit of an edge to his voice now.

"Not just me, but all of us... me and Ku- Violet and Boney- uh, Boney's the dog, but- all of us, we're all going to help Lucas get to the needle. No matter what, we have to get to the needle first. So, that's why... that's why I can't stay. I have to help him get there. He needs me."

A moment, and OJ's grip tightened on his hand. "Lucky, you sure you know what you're doing? This Pokey guy, he doesn't mess around. If he sticks you in one of those Nice Person things..."

He didn't know what that was, but it didn't matter. Duster shook his head. "We have to try. Lucas is the only one who can do it. I have to try."

"But..." OJ stopped, then sighed. "You're gonna do this no matter what, right?"

"If we don't..." He couldn't put it into words. "I have to help him."

A faint sound, not ready to give up just yet. "...Are you sure you can do something like this? You're a bassist..."

Silence for a few long seconds, and Duster lowered his head, words weighed down to a near whisper. After all the time they'd spent discussing it, all the reassurances... they'd been so sure he was too good a person to be what he really was. Too good a person for all these scars. "I'm a thief."

OJ was quiet for a while, considering this, and he wondered if he was disappointed, or if he already knew. He rubbed the side of Duster's hand with his thumb, a small gesture that only grew bigger in the silence. "So, she was right all along, huh?" A little distant, with no surprise and a faint softer edge.

"My whole life, I've been training to be a thief... maybe even training to do this." Or at least, getting the egg, but surely the skills were broad enough to apply. Everything that had been hammered into him, it all had a purpose after all. "It's hard to explain but, I can fight, I can... help them fight, I know how. I was meant to, this whole time, this is what I was meant to do. I can do this... I have to do this. Otherwise it's all for nothing."

He didn't like how his voice sounded; he needed strength, not that stubborn quaver of doubt. Who was he trying to convince? It was hard to look over and see what OJ thought, and he found him studying him or his words, it was hard to tell, with his usual thoughtful expression. Duster was about to try and rephrase or start again, sure that he must have said it wrong, when OJ gave him a faint smile that struck him silent. 

"A thief, huh... you sound more like some kinda hero."

He'd never thought of himself that way, and on some deep level it didn't sound right, but technically... wasn't it sort of true? It took effort for him to even think along those lines. A hero? Him? He may have been struggling against terrible odds to save the world, but a hero? "I guess..."

OJ laughed a little, fondly, and he stroked the side of his hand again. "You still say that a lot."

A flood of memories at that familiar teasing tone, and he shut his eyes, another rising tangle of emotions leaving him at a loss for words. Duster wanted to say something else, felt like he _should_ be saying something, but he couldn't put it together in his head. Why couldn't he think straight? He thought that after he got his memory back, he would stop feeling like an imposter in his own life, yet now he felt like someone else should be sitting here with their hand in OJ's; someone who knew what to say and how they were feeling and how to put it into words that made sense and sounded right. Someone who didn't just sit in silence and stare at their entwined fingers and feel... warm. Why was that the only thing that he could think of? There was so much more to it, but that was the only word that stuck. Did other people feel like this, or was this just another way he was constantly behind? 

His hand felt so nice in his.

"If that's really what you're gonna do..." OJ said, his voice soft. "Then we're with you all the way."

He'd heard that before, somewhere, and he blinked and looked at him. There was that look on OJ's face he remembered that day when he'd left, resigned acceptance of a terrible burden - he was still here with him, they were still together but his face already spoke of such _loss_ , and more than anything he just wanted to make it stop. He wasn't sure how much more of it his heart could take.

Duster had to say something. He had to tell him. He didn't have a chance then, but he did now, and it figured that words were just as hard to find as ever. How do you tell someone _hey, I was on an island that created nightmare visions of people I love that tortured me but you weren't there and that means something I think_? He didn't even know where to start.

This might be his last chance. He knew who he was, no lost memories hid anything, no one else was here. He had to say it.

"We might not ever see each other again..."

"Well, if-"

"So, if we don't..."

"Lucky-"

"So if we don't," and Duster shut his eyes tightly, his hand shaking a little. "So if we don't, you should know that-"

"Lucky-"

"Know that I..."

He thought he'd interrupt again, but he stayed quiet.

"...I love you." The first time he'd ever said it. So many of his firsts were with him.

"Aw, Lucky..." That sort of awkward tone from before, and- no, it was... Duster blinked, that was embarrassment in his voice. He opened his eyes, and OJ was looking away at the other wall, his free hand on the back of his neck. "Don't say something like that, we still got a show to do, you're going to mess me all up inside right before I got to go on stage..." Mumbling, rambling maybe, even.

"If I can't do it, if we fail, I just... I wanted you to know."

"C'mon, it'll be fine." OJ still didn't turn to face him. He'd never seen him like this before. There was effort behind his falsely casual tone. "No need for all this gloom 'n doom, it'll work out. You gotta trust in destiny, right? And destiny isn't about to kill everyone off, that'd be a terrible way to go. It's not gonna happen."

"...I wanted you to know."

"Lucky..." He took a deep breath, his grip on his hand tightening, and in the pause Duster looked down at the counter, death now hanging stiflingly close over them both. This was it... this was really it, and the weight of it, the potential failure, left all other thoughts immobile. OJ turned to face him, considering, remembering, before he reached out and lifted Duster's chin so he had to look him in the eyes. "Listen. You're going to do great. Don't worry. We're all going to be fine. You can do it."

It was the same thing he'd said before his first show with them, when Duster had been terrified that he was going to mess up on stage. 

"Hey, didn't I say we were supposed to just think about the music?" With a shaky attempt at his normal bravado that made his heart ache. "You go out there like this and everyone out there's gonna end up bawlin', you don't want that right? If it's gonna be our last show, we gotta make it great." And his smile became more real, more honest. "I'm the band leader, and I say it's gonna be just like old times, it's just gonna be us and the music and you're gonna go out there, and you're gonna blow 'em away, and you're gonna be happy and that's that. Got it?"

Duster stared at him for a little while longer, and he felt his eyes watering for some reason.

"I'm glad you found me."

"C'mon, Lucky..." With a weak smile and a few hard blinks. "You're really doing a number on me here."

"I am. I really am. I really am lucky." His voice was shaking.

"What'd I say, huh?" And OJ brushed his thumb beneath one of his eyes. "You're over-thinking it, just relax." A moment, and he smiled at him again, his confidence returning. "If you're really Lucky, then _be_ Lucky and let this Duster guy take a nap, alright? And if you're really Lucky..." And he leaned in closer to him. "Then follow my lead. We got a show to do."

OJ patted him on the shoulder, a typical friendly gesture, and stood up as if to leave, and Duster found he stood up with him. He didn't get more than a few steps away before Duster reached out and caught the edge of his jacket.

"Wait-" he said, but he was already pulling him into a tight hug and the word was muffled in his shoulder. He wasn't sure who it was who closed the distance, it happened so quickly, but it didn't really matter. OJ filled up his arms, solid and warm and close, and he held onto him like he'd never get another chance, and in a way, that made sense.

They stood like that for a while, close enough to feel him breathing, feel his heart beating next to his. 

"Don't die, okay?" OJ whispered by his ear, and the vulnerability in his voice made him tighten his grip around him enough to make his arms shake. After a few seconds, finally OJ was the first to let him go, and when they'd pulled apart, he rested his hands on his shoulders. There was that sad, wounded smile he'd seen before, that look in his eyes. Duster recognized it now - before he hadn't understood, he didn't realize, but now he knew why he looked at him that way, why it had always left him helpless and desperate for more. OJ looked at him with love and it bled into his voice, as much as he might have tried for nonchalance. "You still gotta come back and tell me where you got all those scars. Right?"

Duster lifted a hand, rested it on top of one of OJ's, a white patchwork against smooth skin. He wanted time to stop. "Right."

"C'mon, let's go." And he threw his arm around his shoulders like always and led him out of the room. "It's gonna be great, just watch."

  
\---

  
"This may be the last time you ever hear us play. And... this might be the last time... we ever get to perform." 

  
\---

  
The others didn't act like they were disappointed at their great reunion having been cut so short, but Duster wondered. How could they not be a _little_ disappointed? After all this time, they were finally all together again, they finally had their missing piece, they could finally play with all their heart and soul, and all they'd managed was a song and a half. They'd barely even gotten started! This was supposed to be the concert to end all concerts, their last concert possibly ever, and that was all they got? It was completely unfair. They'd had jam sessions about Big City Colas that went on longer than that.

But there was nothing to be done about it now. It was over and there was nothing that would change that. Maybe he should have even been thankful for the reminder that he had a much more important job to do, but he definitely couldn't get himself to believe that. He'd only just gotten warmed up before he had to stop, and it had been such a long time since he had a chance to play...

Nothing to be done. Duster got changed and, with a wistful look or two, left his wig and everything behind and went back to Lucas and Kumatora (who clapped when they saw him, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd blushed so hard, which made her laugh). He got to play at least one song with them again, that was something. He should really focus on that.

It was hard though, and maybe the others could sense that. They were very determined to let him know that they didn't think the interruption was a big deal.

"We got luck on our side," Shimmy said, patting his back with a smile, and it was difficult not to smile with them, even if he didn't feel exactly enthused. "We've always had dumb luck on our side! Tondagossa!" Asking for a response, and Duster nodded.

"Tondagossa." Although without the right energy. Magic clicked his tongue piercing against his teeth.

"D'you think he would've stopped us if we played his lullaby instead?" Although he couldn't help a slight grimace at the thought, and Duster knew that he and the others did the same. They'd played that song so many times they could do it backwards. It got _old_.

"We would've had to stop sometime anyway," OJ said, with a far too casual shrug. "I got a feeling you guys and Pokey got a date with destiny." As much as he might not have wanted to, Duster had to nod at that, and he saw Lucas nod beside him. 

"Pokey's got a date with my fist is more like it," Kumatora said, cracking her knuckles. Magic grinned and held up a hand and after a moment, she gave in and gave him a high five which was followed by a round of laughter. It was hard to feel down around them for long.

"Lucas, isn't it?" Baccio said, and Lucas blinked and nodded. He adjusted his sunglasses, looked pointedly Duster's way before he turned back to the boy. "We leave Lucky in your hands."

Duster's heart quickened a little, and he wasn't sure if it was just at the thought of saying goodbye, or that they were so openly worried about him. How long would it take him to get used to this kind of thing? Baccio stared at him a few moments longer, still so hard to read behind those glasses, then abruptly laughed.

"Oh wait, I mean Duster! I forgot, he's not Lucky!" Although it didn't sound quite like he believed that, and the sideways smirk in Duster's direction didn't help.

"I can't believe you gotta go already," Magic said, with a sigh, and he thumped Duster's back. "I feel like you just got here!"

"I know, I know..."

"Don't worry, man." Shimmy nodded sagely. "Things'll work out. Once you get this Pokey guy taken care of, then we can really bring the house down."

"Take good care of him, alright?" Baccio said to Lucas and Kumatora again, and he raised a hand to his chin in that thoughtful way. "He's got a tendency to get into trouble, this one."

"I do not," Duster said, smiling but still his heart felt heavy. This all had happened so quickly; he'd barely had any time with them at all, and already he had to say goodbye. He wasn't ready for this... why were his goodbyes with them always so sudden? It was the concert all over again...

"Don't worry about us. Just go do what you gotta do," Magic said, like he could sense his failing mood. Duster hadn't even had a chance to tell most of them what he'd gotten up to, all the things he'd done and seen since he'd left, the few snatches of song he'd been working on in the back of his mind during his idle moments. It wasn't fair that time only moved quickly when he was happy... although maybe he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Right..." Duster looked down, tried not to sigh and bring everyone else down - they were all so intent on keeping him up after all and it was the least he could do, but it was hard. He was going to miss them and it hurt to think he had to leave already, again.

For once there was something of an awkward silence, and it occurred to him that he hadn't heard anything from OJ yet. When he lifted his head, he noticed all other eyes were on their band leader as well. He was staring at Duster, deep in thought with one hand on his chin, somber and it echoed in his head, _don't die okay_ , and he wished they were alone so he could hold him again. He might never get another chance, and already it felt like their last embrace had been too short.

The others were silent, waiting as OJ considered his words and there was an unfamiliar feeling of tension in the air, anticipation for what he'd say. Finally, he took a step forward, raised a hand like he was going to rest it on Duster's shoulder, then hesitated. After a tense second, he ended up putting in his pocket, gesturing loosely with his other hand as he often did, like there was nothing unusual here.

Nothing to worry about.

"You're the only bassist the DCMC can ever have," OJ said, carefully, and he blinked several times to try and drive away the shine. "Without you, we're without a bass."

He wasn't sure if saying _I love you_ would have been less painful. It was hard for him to even move, to restart his thoughts, to pull his feet from the thick quagmire of his feelings, to remember that he had something important to do. He pushed away the mess around his heart, and he nodded.

"I'll see you later." Duster found it hard to make it sound like he believed that, and maybe they could tell, but he knew he couldn't linger. Already, he was pushing it, and that feeling was getting worse. "Thanks, guys."

"See ya, Lucky."

He turned away, and they headed out of the theater.

  
\---

  
One hundred floors was such a large number that it never really registered in his head. The biggest houses he'd ever been in before had been two stories; he could still remember helping Lighter build his... before it had burnt down, anyway. Then there was Osohe castle, but that was a _castle_... it made sense that it'd be tall, and even then, it only had nine floors if you went all the way up the tower, and even that was hard enough for him to keep track of. A building having one _hundred_ floors was entirely outside his comprehension. He could understand the words but they never actually sunk in.

One might think that climbing flight after flight in the darkness, going up and up and up and up and _up_ for hours on end, would make the number real, but it didn't. Instead it just felt like he was trapped in an endless repeating loop, constantly scaling the same flight of stairs to only appear at the landing he'd just left behind. It was starting to play tricks with his head. How could a building _be_ this tall? He must have been touching the sky by now, not that he could see it in here. The lack of windows and constant darkness surrounding each set of stairs and landing only heightened the sensation of being lost in a perpetual void. No doubt Pokey had designed it this way on purpose.

He was getting sick and tired of these stairs, though, and thankfully, on one red carpeted landing after the last idiotic game the announcer had made Lucas play, there was a couch. 

"Can we sit...?" He was breathing just a little hard - it turned out that multiple flights of stairs and his left leg did not go well together at all. The customary ache was becoming a sharper stab, and that was always a bad sign. Another thing to add to his list of things his leg did not like doing (figured this place would find a new one), but at least this wasn't a situation he was likely to find himself in again... hopefully.

The others didn't argue, and he thought he saw a little relief in Lucas's eyes. The announcer had said they'd passed all the tests... supposedly, Pokey was just up ahead. Not that he trusted that brat at this point; he'd lied to them how many times now? He probably had some trick up his sleeve... either way, Duster didn't blame Lucas for looking a little nervous at the prospect of meeting him.

It was strange; everything they'd seen about Pokey... his bizarre fake city, his dumb pranks, his selfish behavior, his constant insults, his childish obsessions, his massive ego... all of it pointed to someone a lot pettier and stupider than Duster would have expected for a powerful interdimensional interloper trying to destroy the world. Shouldn't someone like that be... more mature about it?

Maybe this was all just beyond him. He sat down on the couch with a relieved huff, rubbing his leg, and the others sat down beside him. After a few seconds of silence, he felt Lucas tug at his sleeve a little.

"Sorry..."

"Hm?"

"About your leg, I didn't think about that... are you gonna be okay?"

Of course Lucas would be concerned for him; what else did he expect? Duster waved a hand and tried to smile. "It's alright, don't worry. I'm just not used to this many stairs..."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Kumatora had her arms sprawled out across the back of the couch, her head leaned all the way back. "Who even needs a hundred floors anyway? What's the point?"

"That's what I was thinking." Duster smiled, and he looked back down at his leg to see Lucas holding his hand over it, his fingers starting to glow. "Oh, Lucas, no, you don't have to, it's fine..."

But it was too late, he could feel Lucas's power sifting through his skin to his muscles, a faint warmth soothing away the sharp throbs. It could bring him back to baseline, but it could never take away the ache entirely. It didn't take away the guilty feeling either when Lucas leaned away, letting out a shaky breath.

"You really shouldn't push yourself too hard..." Duster reached out to ruffle his hair, then paused and pressed his hand to his forehead. "You feeling alright?"

"Mm... just wanted to help..." Softly, his eyes closing, and Duster looked over at Kumatora.

"I think he's got a fever again."

"Well, could be worse." She sat up properly, her hands on her thighs, and shrugged with a resigned smile. "Least we're not up to our butts in chimeras."

Couldn't argue with that. Duster steadied Lucas as he weaved back and forth a little, his eyes drifting shut. "You should get some rest, okay? We can get going when you're ready."

"Mmm..." Like he didn't quite hear them, and Duster looked back to Kumatora again.

"You want to take him?"

A moment, then she shifted to face him a little more, her arms held out. "Yeah alright, give 'em here."

He lowered Lucas into her arms, and she lowered him into her lap while he lifted his legs up over his own. Neither of them were the best pillow, but apparently Lucas didn't mind. He drifted off, mumbling something through a foggy haze, his face flushed. 

He had such great power, and he was still so fragile at times. Still just a small boy. Duster should've stopped him before he healed him, he didn't want him overexerting himself for his sake, but there wasn't much he could do about it now.

Lucas fell asleep, or at least into a deep trance, relatively quickly, but Duster didn't feel exactly tired. Even so, when he stared out into the darkness that surrounded them, trying to pick out a wall or a window or anything except a dull void, he found himself dozing off a little. A few times he found his head falling forward on his chest, consciousness slipping away without notice until he jolted awake again. 

Not only was there no way to see the sky in here, there was no way to tell time. Pokey really was devious sometimes.

After he jerked himself awake for the third time, he looked over at Kumatora to see how she was doing. Maybe she could keep him awake. She was looking down at Lucas with her eyes nearly closed and an unfamiliarly serious expression, one hand on his shoulder, every now and then stroking his hair. When she caught Duster staring, she shrugged and gave him an awkward grin, back to her usual self.

"How you holdin' up?"

"Huh?" He blinked at her, then rubbed the back of his neck, far too caught off -guard for such a simple question. "I'm fine... why?"

She shrugged again, casual and easy. "Just thought you might be a little bummed about your concert gettin' cut short. That kinda sucked."

"Oh... yeah, that was a little disappointing. I was just getting warmed up..." His voice was dwindling, he wasn't sure why.

"Yeah, I could tell. You know, you get this great look on your face when you're playin' that thing?" She grinned at him, her eyes lit up and he could swear he could see them sparkling. It was always so hard to look away from them. "Like it's the greatest thing in the world. You look so happy, it's ridiculous."

Duster smiled a little at the thought; he couldn't help it. "Yeah... I really do like it. I think I'm..." _Pretty good_ , a faint voice said, but he shoved it down quickly. Couldn't afford to think like that - he was probably wrong. "I think I'm alright."

"You're great and you know it." She pointed at him, still grinning. "It sucks you didn't really get a chance to let loose. But..." And he followed her gaze upwards to the lamp post beside the couch; the sole source of light for each landing. "Bet you were happy to see your buds again, huh?"

There were no moths around the lamp; no life here except for them. "Yeah... it's been a while since I saw them." His smile stretched and thinned with the faint pulse of melancholy at the thought. "I missed hanging out with them..."

"Yeah, I bet." She leaned her head back against the couch, a faint teasing air to her voice like she knew something he didn't. "Magic and Baccio and Shimmy and... OJ." 

He blinked, then looked over at her, and she had an eyebrow raised.

"What?" He could already feel his face prickling.

"You have the worst poker face in the world, you know that?" She laughed, and he could feel his face getting warmer as he looked away, rubbing one of his arms. What was that supposed to mean? What were they talking about again?

"...Yeah, of course I was happy to see 'em all again..."

"Uh huh." He could hear the smile in her voice, definitely teasing him now. Did she know? She seemed to be implying something, but... did she? Should he tell her? It was private... wasn't it?

Then again, if they'd come close to kissing not so long ago, then that meant that they were heading down a familiar path, whether he was aware of it or not, and she might want to know that she wasn't alone on it. Right? Was that okay? Why hadn't Wes explained any of this to him?

"Uh... about that, um... I should probably tell you-"

"I already know." She waved a hand. It felt almost exactly like when an enemy snuck up on him, and somehow through the shock came the thought, _well, that settles that._

"How did you-"

"I told you, you got a terrible poker face, dude. Not to mention the walls in your room weren't as thick as you thought." And her smile only widened as his face burned. "Ha, look at you go! Think you just got a full load of oxygen or something."

He wanted to sink into the floor - how much had she heard?! "Uh..."

"Don't worry, it's cool. Prob'ly did you some good actually, you didn't really seem like you got out much, you know?" It was a rhetorical question, and it occurred to him that of course she knew about the two of them - she was psychic! She'd probably read his mind and found out ages ago, what did he think he was doing trying to keep it a secret around her? She must have thought he was an _idiot_.

"...Yeah." Maybe the conversation could be over now.

"It must've been nice to see him again, right?" Why couldn't she let this go? He was biting the inside of his lip.

"Yeah..."

"...So, what are you gonna do when we get through all this?"

"What?"

"When we pull the needle and save the world or whatever, what are you gonna do? Gonna go back to your old man and be a thief again?" A moment, and she raised an eyebrow. "Or you gonna go back to the DCMC?"

He wasn't prepared at all for that question, startled out of his embarrassed loops, and he found it hard to even think that far ahead. His default life plan had always revolved around his father - he hadn't even considered that there were other paths he could take. A bassist instead of a thief... could he really do that? Stay with them for the rest of his life...

"I don't know..." he said, and he looked at the floor. "I haven't really thought about it, I guess."

She waited a few seconds, perhaps expecting a more solid answer, then leaned her head back and let out a long breath of air. She stared at the blackness above them while Duster stared at the floor, trying to get his heart to calm down. She _knew_ , this whole time-

"He was good to you, huh?"

Just when he thought his face might be cooling. He turned away from her so he could try and hide it a little. "Yeah, he... he taught me a lot." That was all he could manage to say, even though that barely scratched the surface. He taught him a lot about so much, it was hard to keep it all straight.

_He loved me when I didn't think anyone ever would._

Something itched at the back of his mind, and he shut his eyes. Of all the times for her to read his thoughts, and he wondered what she'd tease him with now. He loved her but sometimes she didn't know when to back off.

Wait... loved her?

"I bet he did," she said with her hands behind her head, the picture of unflappable confidence. It was familiar somehow. "But you know, maybe he taught you a lot about guys..." And she turned her head to look at him with a knowing smile. "But there's a lot you can learn about girls, too."

He stared at her, mind completely blank, blinking for a few seconds in an attempt to restart his brain and make his mouth work again.

"...Are you saying you want to-"

"Shh." She leaned over to him and pressed a hand to his lips. "Let's get out of this first, then we'll figure it out, huh?"

All he could was blink at her dumbly, and Lucas stirred a little on her lap. Before he could ask her anything more, she was shaking him awake.

"You feelin' alright now? C'mon, let's get going! Pokey's butt isn't gonna kick itself, you know!"

Lucas yawned and sat up, and they were up and moving again while Duster was still trying to gather his thoughts. She charged ahead so often without him and left him in the dust, trying to understand what happened. All he could do was follow her lead.

  
\---

  
Pokey had far too many robots.

It was bad enough that Duster had nearly lost an arm to that terrifying Natural Killer Cyborg thing (thank goodness Lucas's shields held) but now they were being swarmed by these identical child-sized robots, all made in Pokey's image, and they _would not stop coming_. They were loud and distracting and persistent, they made piercing beeping noises that made it hard to think, they coordinated their efforts on whoever they thought was the weakest, they called other chimeras for back-up when outnumbered, but the worst part was that they kept _exploding_. It wasn't like Duster could attack them from a distance, so every time he managed to take one down, it blew up right in his face and it _hurt_.

The others weren't faring much better. Attacking physically left them in the same boat as Duster - all of them needed to get too close. As for PSI, Kumatora's new Ground ability didn't affect them very well, and her lightning could be frustratingly inaccurate. She could set down a wall of fire, but it didn't slow them down for long, and while she could freeze one or two for a time, they'd burst out of their icy prisons and send razor sharp shards flying everywhere. Then there was Starstorm... but that took an enormous amount of her mental power to summon, and there was healing that needed to be done as well. Both she and Lucas were hard-pressed to keep everyone going in the face of constant interruptions, attacks, and mechanical explosions, and while Duster wasn't psychic himself, he knew their power wasn't limitless. Something had to give, but what other options did they have?

He really could have used some thunder bombs right now.

There was another blast by his side, causing him to stumble back a little, and Boney yelped. Another Pokey-bot down, but two more seemed to spring up in its place. He rushed over to the dog's side, helped him back up and he could see he was favoring one of his paws with a whimper. Why did these horrible things explode so much? He ushered Boney over to Lucas, stood between him and the encroaching robots, his hands up in a ready stance. Protect his teammates, that was what mattered.

"Boney needs help!"

"They won't stop!" Kumatora growled by his side. He heard Boney bark in alarm, and turned in time to see Lucas's stick slam into the body of one of the Pokeys, which promptly exploded in a fiery burst of shrapnel. Lucas was knocked clean off his feet, but Duster was already behind him to catch him before he hit the floor. His left leg gave out and he landed hard on his knees, Lucas in his lap with his eyes closed and his breath shallow.

"Lucas is down!"

"Damn it!" Kumatora shouted.

Like sand in his limbs, a thick buzzing through his bad leg that was never a good sign, and he wasn't sure if he could get up again easily himself, but he wasn't about to let them have Lucas without a fight. Duster narrowed his eyes, pulled a staple from his belt, prepared himself for the worst and he could hear Boney growling beside him, Kumatora panting behind him as she fell to her knees. The Pokey-bots clanked and whirred and closed their circle. No escape.

This was it...

All of a sudden, some guys rushed into the room!

It was the DCMC!

All he could do was sit there and gawp as Baccio, a length of straight pipe tight in one hand, took a stand between them and the incoming Pokey-bots.

"Tondagossa!" Not the least bit afraid or concerned as he adjusted his sunglasses, one arm held slightly back like he was posing for one of their fliers. "Dramatic climaxes are when unruly dudes like us really get to shine!"

The Pokey-bots beeped and flailed their arms, not unlike the Mini-Pokey had whenever Lucas had done too well in those rigged mini-games, and one headed straight for Baccio. Duster's breath caught, the danger of this suddenly becoming all too clear, and he tried to shout a warning for him to get back, to look out, but it was drowned out by the sound of metal hitting metal. The Pokey-bot's head came clean off, and his heart pounded as he waited for the inevitable explosion... which never came. Instead, the robot's body fell forward, sparking but intact, and it took a few seconds for it to sink in. What had happened?

He didn't have much time to think about it. While Baccio rested his pipe against his shoulder, either unaware or unconcerned that he'd somehow escaped a face full of robot shrapnel, Shimmy stepped forward on his other side where the Pokey-bots were regrouping. Instead of a pipe, he had a thick plank of wood, and he looked back at Duster over his shoulder.

"Seems this Master Pokey guy was trying to use us to brainwash everyone." And before Duster could say _what?!_ , Shimmy had turned back to the incoming robots. "I say it's high time we screw up his stupid plans!"

He wasn't afraid in the least, not faltering as one of the robots charged directly for him. A slight feint to one side to avoid its attack, and he swung. Another robot's head was sent through the air, mechanical body clanking to the ground, and Shimmy snapped his fingers, job complete. Just like the first, this one didn't explode either (the heads, was it the heads?) and the relief- if something happened to them, if something happened to his friends because of him, then-

It was all happening so quickly. He could hear one of the robots readying an attack nearby, but by the time he turned to see, Magic was already there. Like a blur, he darted between the Pokey-bot and its prey, crouched low to the ground so he could bring his guitar up by the neck in a sweeping arc. It struck the robot in the face, knocking its head clean off just like the others, and while its body twitched on the floor, Magic continued his spin for a few seconds before he could catch himself.

"Ha!" A loud bark, and his chest heaved. He turned and grinned at Duster, all his teeth showing. "We ain't gonna let this Pokey freak have his way!"

He couldn't believe it, how did they get here? Their timing was perfect...

OJ told him to trust in destiny... was this destiny?

Baccio and Shimmy called Magic over to them to help them deal with a Kangashark one of the robots had called for help, and of course, while they were distracted, the Pokey-bots decided to make their move on their true target. Duster could hear one beeping as it charged towards them, towards him, and he couldn't get up, not with Lucas weighing him down and his leg still like this, and Kumatora and Boney couldn't rise beside him either. It kept coming and he leaned over Lucas to shield him with his body, his eyes shut tight-

Someone's hand braced itself on his shoulder for a moment, and he opened his eyes and saw a pink coat flash in front of him. The Pokey-bot's head went flying, and there, the final member of the DCMC stood in front of him, one of the broken arms from the Natural Killer Cyborg in his hand.

"We're gonna make you pay for everything you've done!" OJ said, resolute, as angry as he'd ever heard him, and he took a meaningful step towards another lingering Pokey-bot. It didn't move... could it be hesitating? OJ didn't give it a chance to get away, rushing towards it with his makeshift weapon at ready while the robot flailed its arms in apparent panic. "Get ready! It's punishment time!"

Saved... again.

The supply of robots wasn't endless after all. A few more dispatched, remaining chimeras driven off, and the room eventually grew quiet except for the wind outside and the harsh breathing of his bandmates. As brave as they all had been, completely fearless, Duster could only imagine that this all had to be rather new to them. They were musicians after all, not... not thieves.

OJ brushed his hand across his forehead, dropped the Natural Killer Cyborg's arm, let out a long breath then straightened with a sudden realization. He whirled around and headed straight for Duster, trying not to run but unable to simply walk, and when he knelt by his side, one hand on his shoulder, he could practically feel concern radiating off him. For a second, OJ and Kumatora met eyes, but his attention quickly refocused.

"Lucky, you alright?"

"I'm fine-" He wasn't, exactly, but he was still conscious, and that was what mattered. "We need to get Lucas back up-"

Boney sat up with a faint whine, limbs shaking a little, and dug into the satchel strapped to his side. After a few seconds he pulled out a small vial and held it out in his mouth to Kumatora, who took it with a relieved smile.

"Awesome, a Secret Herb. Just what we need. Thanks, Boney."

Boney panted, pleased, by their side, and she held the vial up to Lucas's mouth and poured it between his lips. After a few tense seconds, his eyelids fluttered and he awoke, and Duster breathed a sigh of relief. It was never easy to see him unconscious, even if he knew they had ways to bring him back. He was still so young.

"You okay, kid?" OJ smiled at Lucas, who blinked at him, baffled, before giving him a weak smile in return. "There we go, knew you were made of tough stuff. Bad news for you though," as he leaned back a little, as smooth as ever, "you missed our super cool entrance."

He could feel Lucas laugh a little, crisis averted, danger now passed, and it was always so easy to feel like everything was okay around OJ. He never knew how he did it.

"Sorry..." Lucas said, his voice thin, and OJ waved a hand dismissively, moving out of the way a little so Boney could lick his face.

"You'll just have to make sure you stay awake next time, you dig?" That confident smile. Nothing ever fazed him.

"Yeah..." As Lucas ruffled Boney's ears. Duster could see that his hands were still a little unsteady - it'd take a little while for him to be completely back on his feet.

"Thanks for bailing us out there, guys," Kumatora said, and Magic held out a hand to help her up. 

"No problem! We thought you might need some help." Magic laughed, still a little out of breath though Duster was willing to bet it was residual excitement rather than fatigue, and when he held out one fist, she couldn't resist giving him a fistbump much to his delight.

"We knew this Pokey guy was bad news," Shimmy said as he pulled Lucas to his feet. Lucas's sense of balance wasn't perfect just yet, but the others were more than happy to steady him when he wavered. When Lucas was up, OJ took Duster's arm.

"You alright?" Quietly, just to him, as they stood up together, and Duster nodded. "You look a little singed."

"The other ones exploded on us..."

"No kidding!" With a low whistle. "That'd explain it. Things looked pretty bad when we got here." And he nudged his shoulder with a grin. "Heh, lucky you got us lookin' out for you, huh?" It was suddenly hard to meet his eyes, his face prickling a little. Duster caught Kumatora giving him a look with a smile and this got all awkward all of a sudden.

"Thanks for your help-"

"Come, Boney."

All conversation died at the sound of that voice. Duster hadn't heard it in three years, and from Lucas's reaction, he would have believed it had been just as long for him. 

Boney ran towards his old master with a flurry of excited barks, leaping up to lick Flint's face as he knelt down to stroke his head. Everyone just stared in stunned or confused silence until Flint looked up, meeting eyes with his son.

"Lucas, this is it... this is finally it..."

Lucas stood there, his mouth open, unable to find words, and Duster wondered if maybe he should say something for him, or if someone should say something. This seemed like a situation where someone should be saying something.

"Have we managed to corner the enemy... or have we all been lured here?" And he froze, every thought wiped away, every muscle tense. Wes walked from the stairs to Flint's side, one hand to his mouth, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, as he often used to when he was considering the nature of the unknown enemy. Three years since he'd last seen him with his memory intact, _three years_ \- "Hmm. I suppose it doesn't matter either way." And his eyes moved from the floor and pinned Duster down. 

There was no anger there, nothing that he'd been expecting. As casual as if he'd just gone to the store, as casual as if he'd left the room, as casual as if no time had passed at all. "Right, Duster?"

He wasn't sure what was worse; anger or nonchalance. At least he knew how to react to anger. What was this feeling? All Duster could do was stare at him blankly, eyes wide, struggling to untangle a sudden mass of all too complicated emotions, and vaguely he felt OJ shake his arm somewhere and say his name. Other members of the village he hadn't seen in ages came into the room, Lighter and Bronson and even little Fuel, but he couldn't look away from his long-lost father. 

Wes, in comparison, stared upwards at the ceiling, at the mass of vines and machinery that now hummed amidst the lightning strikes.

Something from above coughed.

  
\---

  
When the floor beneath him shifted and fell, he looked up and saw OJ over one edge, reaching out to try and catch him with a startled shout of his name, and his father over the other, looking bewildered.

Then they were gone.

  
\---

  
Duster wasn't psychic, but he didn't need to be to be able to sense the vibrations of the needle up ahead. It went through his body right into his chest, a heartbeat overriding his own that made him feel shaky and lightheaded. What was it like for the others? 

What was it like for Lucas?

Claus... so it had been Claus all this time. When he heard the name, all he could think of was the rambunctious boy he'd seen growing up in the village, tussling with the other children and getting into trouble and always so fearless with his questions about who Duster was and what he did. All he could see was the energetic, red-haired boy that had been such a perfect mirror image of the blond one trudging along beside him now.

Duster knew who lay ahead for them, who was waiting for them at the needle, who had to be stopped, and it didn't seem real. But it must have paled in comparison to how Lucas felt about this, and along with the throbbing pulsing in his heart, Duster felt a strong pang of concern.

Such a heavy burden for a young boy. Duster was so used to carrying heavy burdens by himself.

By himself...

He reached out and touched Lucas's shoulder and he stopped, although he didn't turn around. Ahead, a faint glowing golden light in the darkness marked the needle. Crackles of energy, flashes of lightning lit the air unevenly around them, revealed stark cliffs and chasms into the heart of the earth. From darkness to light, that was appropriate, wasn't it? 

When she saw that they'd stopped, Kumatora did as well, looking at Duster with a curious, somber expression. Lucas remained silent, staring at the pulsing light ahead of them, like he was unaware that they were there, though he did not move away. Duster waited a few seconds, then leaned over a little so he could take Lucas's hand in his own. His fingers were cold, just as they had been back at the club.

"I believe in you," Duster said. "No matter what happens. You have a good heart." There was so much more to say and he couldn't find the words. He was still so bad at situations like this - this was something meant for grand sweeping speeches, and all he could manage were a few brief sentences. What else was there to say? It was the truth, and he couldn't think of anything fancier. It was what was important. "I believe in you."

Lucas didn't say anything.

Kumatora had that sad look in her eyes again, and she reached down herself to take Lucas's other hand.

"Yeah, I believe in you too, got it? You can do this, okay? We're with you all the way."

That was something he'd missed. "We're with you 'til the end."

Still, Lucas said nothing. They waited, and Boney sat by him and whined.

Lucas moved forward, eyes fixed straight ahead, and he didn't say a word. He didn't let go of their hands until the figure of the masked man was clear in front of them.

Duster had every intention of fighting by Lucas's side. He was even willing to die for him, he realized at that moment, if it meant that Lucas would pull the needle. As the masked man stood up, his sword drawn, Duster raised his hands, falling into a ready stance, and Boney growled by his feet. He could see flames around Kumatora's fists, and Lucas stared at the masked man with no expression, his arms at his side.

He was going to fight with Lucas to the very end. He wouldn't abandon him. He wouldn't fail him. If he couldn't fight his brother... then they would do it for him, if they had to. He was ready to do this. He was going to do this.

He couldn't, he wouldn't allow Lucas to be hurt anymore.

He wouldn't let Lucas down.

The masked man raised his sword, there was a crackling sound and all his hair stood on end.

That was all he remembered.

  
\---

  
Something bright penetrated the darkness, warm and insistent, familiar, and it pulled him back together. He struggled to follow it upwards, and slowly his eyes opened. Kumatora was over him, one glowing green hand raised.

"Duster..." she said, and he wanted to ask her what happened but couldn't get his mouth to work right. She squinted her eyes nearly shut, took in a shaky breath, and she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him up. He could barely think straight enough to protest or resist.

She stood up, taking him with her, and he kept looking at her for answers but she wasn't looking at him. He followed her gaze, and he could see Flint, Boney, and Lucas kneeling beside the still body of a red-haired boy.

The feeling wasn't unlike when he'd first found out that Hinawa was dead, and in a way, that was probably fitting. Lucas set Claus down and backed away from him, weaved back and forth on his feet, stared at his brother's dead body in a numb haze. What happened? What had happened to them all? Duster had never felt this helpless before, the depth of the tragedy beyond his comprehension. He couldn't even begin to imagine how they were feeling. What was he supposed to do or say? He wanted to do something, help him, take away the pain but he had no idea how. A great gulf lay between them when he needed him the most.

That buzzing hadn't gone away, a foreign throb still echoing through his body to his fingertips, power palpable in the air and his eyes were drawn to the needle, still crackling and pulsing. This wasn't over yet.

Flint told Lucas not to be afraid. To wake the dragon, and rebirth the world. That he'd done the right thing, that he knew he could do it, to forgive his brother. Lucas didn't react to anything he said, only staring at Claus's body with no expression, tears constantly rolling down his face.

Pass your heart onto the dragon.

Flint told Lucas that he could do this, but he didn't even know him. Lucas wasn't the same person he was three years ago any more than Duster was, who was the Lucas that Flint knew? Who was the Lucas that he put his faith in?

He wrapped his hands around the needle.

Duster knew Lucas though.

He wasn't psychic, but considering how hard he was thinking it, maybe Lucas would hear him anyway.

_I believe in you. You have a good heart. You can do this._

Was it belief or hope? Did it really matter? There was nothing he could do. This was up to Lucas now.

It was Lucas's heart alone that would determine the fate of the world, and all Duster could do was hope that his place in it had helped make it light.

_Now you need to believe in yourself._

There was nothing he could do, as Lucas tightened his grip and the needle transformed into a beam of light and vanished, and the ground ripped open with geysers of burning steam and a deep rumbling grew louder and louder. There was nothing he could do, as the cavern they were in began to collapse, the air growing hot and acrid, the rock beneath their feet rolling and buckling and Kumatora was in his arms, holding onto him for dear life and he crushed her to him, trying to protect her as the world tore itself apart around them. There was nothing he could do.

They had no choice. 

It was fitting that that had gotten him through so much of his life, and it was one of the last things he thought of when it all came to an end.

  
\---

  
He had a lot of thanks to give.

Everyone he loved made it to the other side.

In the end, he really was lucky.


End file.
